


Enigma Variations

by hexagonad (ideserveyou)



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Alien Planet, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Marriage Proposal, Morning After, Multi, Rescue Missions, S&M, Shower Sex, Tea, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex, Threesome - M/M/Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 38
Words: 64,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideserveyou/pseuds/hexagonad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard always thought his stoned-out midget alien landlord didn't give a toss. And that having no genitals means you're asexual. But when Vince leaves home to join a goth band, Howard finds out that he was wrong...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black is Black

It’s very quiet in the flat. Too quiet.The sky outside the window is leaden, a chill breeze slapping the occasional spatter of raindrops against the glass, as though spitting in contempt.

Howard sits slumped on the black-and-white sofa, staring at the rectangle of grey. His life stretches colourlessly ahead of him, not even a hint of beige or even oatmeal on the horizon.

He has been reduced to a monochrome travesty of his former self, as of twenty-seven minutes ago, when the sound of a pair of wedge-heeled, glittery boots clattering down the stairs was followed by the decisive slam of the shop door.

Shutting all the warmth and colour away.

Permanently, this time.

Vince’ll be at his new place by now. With _them_. Chatting, joshing, tossing back that impeccably coiffed mane of black hair. Having a coffee, having a laugh. Rehearsing for tonight’s gig. Making plans. Plans that have no place in them for – the words are etched on Howard’s mind, indelible and unbearable in their casual cruelty – ‘ _a middle-aged jazz freak with tweed underpants. I mean, tweed… like, do you know how they mothproof tweed? Eeeuww. That is just so wrong...’_

Howard can’t bear to recall the rest of the argument, but he knows it’s there, knows it will come back to him word-perfect and crystal clear, waking him in the night or distracting him from his stocktaking.

They’ve had plenty of stupid fights before, but never like that.

The first sob surprises him, an animal noise escaping from deep inside him where he’s shoved the rest of today’s conversation with Vince, and the day his mother left home, and the sensation of falling off the roof at his birthday party… all the things he can’t bear to look back at, all stuffed together into a locked box.

He can see it in his mind, the ash-grey wood bending and splitting, this latest disaster too much for it to contain. Try as he might, he can’t get the lid back on. Soon he gives up trying and just watches helplessly as the box splinters into fragments and releases a flood of bitter memories and scalding tears that washes him away.

He no longer knows or cares whether the sounds he is hearing are of real or remembered grief. He only knows that he is alone.

At length the storm diminishes, leaving him washed up in a soggy heap amid the cushions. He lies back and shuts his eyes. Anything else seems completely pointless.

“Bad day?” says a quiet voice from behind him.

“Fuck off, Naboo,” Howard snarls.

His landlord is unperturbed. “Bad day. I’ll go and put the kettle on.”

A short while later, the same level voice says, “Here you go. Cup of tea.”

Howard hauls himself wearily upright, and wipes a sleeve across his face. He looks with deep suspicion at the steaming mug that is being proffered to him, and then with equally deep suspicion at the midget shaman who is doing the proffering.

“What’s in it?”

“Nothin’ that shouldn’t be.”

Howard is not entirely reassured by this. Naboo’s definition of what legitimately constitutes food and drink is somewhat broader than his own.

Naboo tuts impatiently, and rolls his eyes. “Boiling water, PG Tips, milk and two sugars. Honestly, anybody would think you don’t trust me. Look, are you gonna drink this or have I been wasting my time?”

“I don’t take sugar in tea.”

“I know you don’t. But carbohydrate is a human tranquilliser. It says so in the Extraxooberonian Survival Guide. I can put something stronger in there if you’d rather…”

“No, erm, sugar’ll be fine.” Howard sniffs, wipes his face again, and takes the cup. “Thanks, Naboo.”

“ ’Bout bloody time,” Naboo mutters. “Now, what the fuck is going on, why is the shop shut, where is Vince, and what’s wrong with you?”

He glares at Howard, who looks hastily away and takes a gulp of the scalding tea.

“Well?”

“Vince has gone.” Howard chokes to a halt; takes another mouthful.

“And?”

“That’s it, really.” The brew is strong and sweet and comforting, but it’s not enough to stop the tears welling up.

“Gone to join that German goth band he met last week? Stitchcraft or whatever they’re called?”

“Kraftstrauch.”

“Ballbags.” Naboo looks shrewdly at Howard. “You two have a fight?”

Howard can only nod miserably.

“And he’s left for good this time?”

Howard nods miserably again, and finishes his tea.

“He can’t do that, the selfish tosser. I’ve got a business to run, and he’s my best salesman. I’ll have to get him back again.” Naboo takes the empty mug out of Howard’s shaking hand, and puts it on the floor. “We’ll have to get him back again. I can’t have my stocktaker out of action too. Not to mention fucking miserable.”

“Like you give a shit,” Howard growls, before he can stop himself.

Naboo looks at him with unruffled composure.

“I do, actually. I know it don’t sound like it. It’s hard to get the inflection in such a primitive alien language. But I’m Naboo, that’s who. I’ve been around a while. I know all about bein’ treated like dirt by someone that you…”

He draws a sharp breath. “Never mind. Forget I said that. We’ve got a mess to sort out, and we need a plan. You sit there and pull yourself together. And you’d better not have got snot on those cushions, or the cleaning’ll come out of your wages.” He gets to his feet and heads for the door. “I’m gonna have a look in the cupboard.”

“What for?”

“Dunno yet. But there’s all sorts of magic stuff in there. Must be something we can use.”

After a few minutes of rattling and cursing, he is back, with a small green bottle in his hand.

“That cupboard's a nightmare. I need to get Bollo to clear it out again. But I did find this.”

“A potion to mend a broken heart?” Howard asks hopefully.

“Oh, grow up,” Naboo snorts. “I’m a shaman, not the fuckin’ Good Fairy. Anyway yours isn’t broken, it’s just a bit dented. But this might help.”

Howard peers at the minuscule print on the label. “Windows Vista of the Soul? What on earth’s that when it’s at home?”

“What it says on the bottle, pea-brain. It makes your soul show in your eyes.”

“How’s that supposed to help?”

Naboo sighs. “Honestly, Earthpeople are so thick. See, I figure your biggest problem with Vince is that you don’t talk to him.”

“I talk to him all the time.”

“You talk at him most of the time. I doubt he gets much of it, even when he’s listening to you instead of fiddling with his hair or any of the other several million annoying things he does. And anyway you aren’t telling him the important stuff. Cos if you were, he’d still be here and I wouldn’t be wasting my time having this conversation.”

“The important stuff being…”

Another exasperated sigh. “The important stuff being how you feel about him. How you don’t want him to move in with Dogbreath Deadwood – ”

“It’s Dietrich Darmfuhrung, actually.”

“I don’t care what the twat’s name is. The point is, Vince don’t know how much you need him. And if you can find a way to tell him, he might decide to stay here after all.”

“He might not. And anyway, I can’t. It’s not that I haven’t tried. I just – the words don’t come out right. I’m a jazz musician. The spoken word isn’t my thing.”

“Which is where this comes in.” Naboo gestures at the bottle in Howard’s hand. “It works by eye contact. Well, if it works at all, they’re dodgy things, windows potions. But let’s say this version fires up OK, then if you can get Vince to look at you, he’ll be able to see what you’re thinking, and you won’t need to say a word.”

“Is it permanent?” Because much as Howard wants Vince to know how he feels, he can see that there would be serious disadvantages to having Vince able to read his every thought.

“Nah. This is the twenty-four hour free trial version. The permanent one’s well expensive and well serious – there’s no antidote, and if it goes wrong the tech support’s crap, and as for the online help… well, let’s just say, it doesn’t.”

Howard fiddles doubtfully with the stopper. “If I drink it now… what if Vince doesn’t come back before it wears off?”

“How many bags did he take with him?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Everything’s connected. Just answer the question.”

“Two duffel bags and a suitcase.”

“I think you’re safe to drink it now.”

“I don’t follow.”

Naboo smiles. “Come on, Howard. Three bags? No way is that enough clothes to see him through a whole afternoon plus deciding what to wear for their first gig. He’ll be back in the next hour or two.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Course, this may not give you the result you’re hoping for. But at least you’ll know where you stand.”

“I’ll take the risk.” Howard studies the label. “Ah. Maybe not. It says on the bottle it’s ‘not compatible with sentient fruit, aquatic life forms, or humans’.”

“Does it? Shit, I’d forgotten.”

“ ‘May cause corruption or terminal damage to wetware.’ That doesn’t sound good.”

“It isn’t good. It means it’ll probably kill you.”

“Well, that’s it then.” Howard hands back the potion, and slumps against the cushions.

“You give up too easily. I’m not human.”

“What’s your point? Vince doesn’t need to know what you think of him.”

Naboo peers at the very small print. “Yup, thought so. It’s transmissible from a mighty shaman to a fallible mortal. One-time use only. So I can drink it, cross-grade the poison, and pass the active principle on to you.”

“Like a disease?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

It sounds horrible. And potentially dangerous. But if it improves the probability of Vince coming home, even if only from ‘absolutely zero’ to ‘vanishingly small’… it has to be worth a try.

Howard grits his teeth.

“All right, Naboo. What do I have to do?"


	2. Kind of Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo drinks the potion, but nothing much seems to be happening...

“You’ll have to shut your eyes,” Naboo says sternly.“I’m not doin’ eye contact, I don’t want you looking into my soul. Nuffink personal, you know? I just don’t need to go there at the moment. And neither do you.”

He unstoppers the bottle, releasing a puff of brownish vapour and an acrid smell. “Eeeuww.” He wrinkles his nose. “No wonder it’s not good for goldfish.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Howard says.

“Yeah, I do. Where’m I going to get another employee like Vince? They’d have to be willin’ to share a room with you, for a start. This may be a long shot, but that’d be even longer. So shut up.”

He has a point. Howard shuts up.

Naboo takes a deep breath, and gulps the potion down in one. He shudders, retches, and swallows hard.

“You OK, Naboo?”

“Don’t ask. Just shut your eyes,” the shaman grits through clenched teeth.

Howard obeys, and the world turns to the dull brown of the inside of his eyelids.

He can hear the rain beating on the window, and Naboo’s rapid, shallow breathing.

He wonders what Vince is doing right now.

And whether Naboo’s going to throw up.

“Peppermint,” Naboo says, after a while.

“You what?”

“Tastes of peppermint now, instead of like Vince’s cooking. I think it’s ready to transmit.”

“So, erm, how do you do that? Do you sneeze on me, or wave a wand, or what?”

“Simple connection should do it. Touch. Layin’ on of hands, that sort of thing.”

“OK, that doesn’t sound too difficult. Go ahead.” Howard’s heart is pounding. But he’s gone too far now to turn back.

Naboo lays a hand on his arm. “Anything?”

“What should happen?”

“Hmmm. Maybe we need skin contact.” Naboo slides his hand down to Howard’s wrist. His fingers are cold, and the touch is slightly hesitant, as though he expects to be rejected. “Anything now?”

Howard shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry.”

“You should be seeing a colour.” The cold fingers thread themselves through Howard’s.

“What colour?” Howard curls his own fingers around Naboo’s, and holds on.

“You’d know if you were seein’ it. I don’t know what’s gone wrong. It may still be incompatible, or you don’t have enough memory to run complex magic. Or maybe the stuff was just out of date.”

“Well, never mind.” Howard bites back the desperate disappointment clutching at the back of his throat. “Thanks for trying, anyway. I guess I’ll just have to – to talk to him…”

“There is one more thing we could try. We may have got the wrong sort of connection, I’m not an expert on human systems… What are you prepared to do, to get him back?”

“Anything. I’m doing this, aren’t I?”

“All right. Let’s try kissing.”

The shaman’s voice is still perfectly level. Howard lets go of his hand as though it’s burnt him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah, I never thought I’d ever hear me say that to you either. Good thing Bollo’s out shoppin’. Let’s just – get on with it. And keep your eyes shut.”

Howard screws his eyes up even tighter. “Right. Kiss me.”

“Nice chat-up technique,” Naboo says, giggling suddenly. “Nearly as good as mine. You comin’ on to me, Howard Moon?”

“Stop enjoying my discomfiture, sir.” Howard reaches out cautiously, his hand flinching back as it touches Naboo’s silky hair. “This is a purely professional arrangement.”

“Whatever you say.” Naboo is still shaking with laughter.

“Are you high?” Howard asks, severely.

“Yeah. Just a bit.”

Naboo leans in and presses his lips briefly to Howard’s.

“Anythin’?”

“No, nothing. Just – brown. Never mind, at least we tr–”

The small hands gripping the back of Howard’s head are surprisingly strong; the shaman’s mouth is cool. He tastes of peppermint.

“How about now?”

“Still nothing.”

“I’m sorry.” Naboo releases his hold. “No hard feelings, eh?” He butterflies a fingertip across Howard’s cheek.

A flash of peacock-blue flits across the dingy brown landscape inside Howard’s eyelids, like the flutter of a tiny wing.

“Could we… could we try that again?”

“Third time lucky?” Naboo’s voice is thoughtful. “Could be. Honestly, why these potion designers have to make them so complicated… OK, why not, we’ve got this far an’ it’s been…”

He takes a deep breath, and takes Howard’s face between his hands.

“Nice,” he says, sounding faintly surprised. “Yeah. It’s been nice.”

This time the kiss is deep and languid and very nice indeed, although Howard is relieved to find that it’s not turning him on.

And this time there is no mistaking the brilliant, glowing blue that is spreading itself across his whole field of not-vision.

He feels a rush of gratitude, and returns the kiss; reaches up to run his fingers through Naboo’s hair, caressing him behind his ears, breathing in his scent of exotic spices and illicit substances.

“You’ve got it now,” Naboo says, as they break apart. “Peacock blue, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad we made it work.”

There is an odd note of regret in Naboo’s voice. Howard slips an arm around his shoulders. “You OK?”

“Guess so. Magic always takes it out of me a bit.”

Somehow, Howard knows that he’s not telling the whole truth. In the same way that he knew that Naboo would be sensitive behind his ears; and that the little alien is, for all his apparent self-sufficiency, as crushingly lonely as Howard is himself.

He lifts Naboo’s chin, and kisses him again, very gently.

“What was that for?”

“Kindness,” Howard says. “People aren’t kind to you very often, are they?”

Naboo shrugs. “Guess not.” Then he tenses. “How d’you know? Shit, this stuff’s stronger than I thought, we’re getting psychic leakage. Should never have bought that cut-price foil turban liner from Tony bloody Harrison, they never work…”

He struggles to pull away, but Howard holds him firm. “No, I don’t think it’s… I mean, I think I’d have known anyway. Just from… how you are. You haven’t…”

“No, I haven’t. Not much. Bit like you, eh?” Naboo relaxes into the curve of Howard’s shoulder, and heaves a deep sigh, with a little catch in it. Then he shakes his head. “Sorry. Don’t mind me.”

Howard is suddenly reminded of his mother, who used to sigh like that, and of what his dad used to say to her, half-joking, when she did… back in the days when they were still speaking to each other…

“Bad time of the… century?”

“Half-century, actually,” Naboo says, “but yeah, something like that…”

Howard rests his cheek on Naboo’s smooth, fragrant hair. “Anything I can do?”

“You’re doin’ it.”

“Stay there for a bit, then, and I’ll carry on doing it. Least I can do.”

“ ’S’nice, Howard. Thank you.”

Presently, Naboo begins to snore quietly. Howard keeps his eyes closed and slips into a peacock-blue dream that is perfumed with spices and bright with hope, as the rain whispers softly against the window, promising rainbows.


	3. Seeing Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince gets the wrong impression.

“What the _fuck_?”

Howard opens his eyes, with a vague feeling there was some reason he should have kept them shut.

Vince is standing in the doorway, hands on hips, glaring: not at Howard, but at Naboo, who is still peacefully asleep in Howard’s lap, with his head pillowed on Howard’s shoulder.

“Um, hello, Vince.” Howard tries to sound utterly casual, and fails utterly. He lets go of Naboo’s hand. “This… um… it isn’t what it looks like.”

Vince shrugs. “I don’t give a toss if it is. I just came to get my stuff.”

Naboo stirs, yawns, looks up at the ceiling. “Alright, Vince?” he says calmly, as though it were Bollo he’d been cuddled up to for a snooze, and not Howard.

The edges of Howard’s vision are still blurred and blue-tinted, but even so he can see Vince very clearly, and he doesn’t look alright at all. He looks downright furious. He sets his lips and marches off to their room without another word; there is the sound of the door slamming, and then of the wardrobe being violently flung open.

“Over to you, Howard,” Naboo murmurs. “Shout if you need a hand, yeah?” He slides off Howard and curls up among the sofa cushions, shutting his eyes again. “Good luck,” he mumbles, and is asleep again almost instantly.

Still bleary and headachey, and hampered by pins-and-needles in one foot, Howard stumbles down the passage and tries the bedroom door. Not locked; well, that’s a start.

He takes a deep breath, turns the handle and goes in.

“Vince…”

“Piss off,” Vince snarls, standing in front of the ransacked wardrobe with his back turned.

“ _Vince_ …”

“Which word of ‘piss off’ did you not understand?”

“Either of them. I’m not going anywhere, sir. We need to talk.”

“I don’t wanna talk to you. We’ve already said it all.” Vince throws a couple of random shirts into the suitcase on the floor. Then kicks it violently, leaving a dent in the side. “Fuck you, Howard, I’ve only been gone five minutes and you’re makin’ out with someone else. With a freakin’ alien, for fuck’s sake, and you do know he’s four hundred years old and asexual, don’t you? What the fuck are you playing at?”

“I thought you said you didn’t give a toss.”

Vince goes still for a brief instant, which to an outside observer would have passed unnoticed, but which tells Howard that his words have hit home. He presses his advantage. “Vince, look at me.”

Vince’s back remains stubbornly turned. “I don’t have time for this. I got outfits to pack. The lads’re outside in the car, waiting for me.”

“Look at me,” Howard persists. “Look at me, and tell me you don’t give a toss.”

Vince turns round slowly, looking down at his glittery boots. “Bugger it, that’s left a mark...” he mutters.

“It’s me,” Howard says, walking towards him, one hand outstretched as though to calm a nervous llama. “Look at me, and tell me. And if you can do that, then I’ll accept it, and I’ll let you go. I promise. I’ll help you carry your suitcases out of this house, and I’ll never bother you again.”

“Are you high?” Vince asks suspiciously.

“Maybe, a little. I am… under the influence of a magical substance.”

“Some shit of Naboo’s? You’re trying to bewitch me or something?”

“Naboo did give me something, yes. But only so you’d know I was telling you the truth.”

Vince raises his head, and meets Howard’s eyes. A shock runs through Howard’s body, like an electric spark, and for an instant, his whole vision turns that brilliant colour again.

“Peacock blue,” Vince whispers.

Howard stands stock-still, holding Vince’s gaze, willing him to see everything, all the things Howard can’t tell him: how sorry I am, how much I love you, how empty my life will be without you, how –

Vince turns away.

The disappointment is like a physical blow, sending Howard staggering backwards to lean against the wall, one arm still outstretched in supplication.

“Vince…”

“I gotta make a phone call,” Vince mutters, “shut up a minute.”

He pulls his sleek, scarlet mobile from a hip pocket – how the hell did he have room for it in such tight trousers? – and presses a button.

“Hello? DeeDee? ’S Vinney. Listen, mate, something’s come up…”

They’ve got as far as pet names? He’s only known the fucker for a week. Howard’s knees give way, and he slides down until he’s sitting on the carpet, all his hope and confidence draining away.

Dietrich. Impossibly thin, implausibly pale, undeniably pretty with his spiked, white-blond hair and piercing green eyes. How would Vince not fall for him? What on earth can Howard possibly have to offer, that would even come close?

“… so you’ll have to get somebody else. Yeah, that _is_ what I said. If you’ve gotta problem with that, it’s your problem.”

It makes no sense, but Howard is past caring. He couldn’t get up even if he tried.

“No, you can’t. No. Well, you can sit there in the car all night if you want, but then you’ll miss the gig…”

Hang on. Did he really say that?

“No worries, keep the deposit, you’ll have no trouble lettin’ it to someone else, it’s a nice room.”

A tiny seed of hope begins to re-sprout in the desert of Howard’s soul.

“You know what? I don’t care. Throw ’em away, take ’em to Oxfam, you might get a few quid on eBay, or you can leave ’em on the doorstep next time you’re passing. They’re only clothes. I got more important things to worry about right now.”

He really _did_ say that. The tiny seed of hope blossoms into a flower of cautious optimism.

“Listen, sometimes a guy’s just gotta do what he’s gotta do, y’know? I’m sorry it didn’t work out…”

The tinny buzzing on the other end of the phone rises to an indignant crescendo.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t speak German, but fuck you, too.” Vince hurls the phone across the room to shatter against the wall.

He takes two steps towards Howard.

Then crumples to the floor, and starts to cry helplessly.


	4. Crystal Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince finds out what Howard really thinks; Howard finds out quite a lot of what Vince really thinks, too

“Vince.”

Howard can’t say anything else; and what else does he need to say, anyway, when Vince is getting the whole story with every glance?

They’re on Howard’s bed, where he somehow managed to coax the prostrate Vince in between the floods of anguished tears; Howard is sitting crossways, propped against the wall, and Vince is sprawled on his back with his head on Howard’s knees, calmer now but still taking the occasional big, shuddery breath as the aftermath of his outburst dies away.

Howard strokes the damp hair back from Vince’s forehead. Vince frowns, and shoves his hand away.

“Don’t be sweet. Not while you’re still pissed off with me.”

“I’m not.”

Vince looks up at Howard. “Yeah, you are.”

“So? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Won’t be the last, either.”

“Good.” Howard leans over and kisses Vince’s cheek. “Being pissed off with you is a way of life for me. I’d miss it.”

Vince is still frowning. “You should be mad at me. I called you all sorts of stuff – like ‘middle-aged freak’ – and don’t pretend it didn’t hurt. I know it did. I meant it to.”

This must be why Naboo wouldn’t do eye contact. There is no hiding place.

“It doesn’t matter,” Howard says helplessly, leaning back against the wall again.

“It does,” Vince wails. “I made you feel old and useless, like you had to compete. You hated it that I had the choice, to just go off and do somethin’ else, with younger and thinner people, an’ leave you behind stuck in the same old rut.”

“I didn’t know how to stop you.”

“But I _wanted_ you to stop me!”

Howard sighs. He’s always found Vince’s logic hard to follow. “Is that what this was all about? Calling my bluff?”

Vince nods, and blinks back yet more tears. “I just wanted you to say you needed me. That would’ve been enough.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“Well, OK, it would’ve been enough to stop me going, an’ then we could’ve worked on the rest. But you never talked about you and me. All you did was tell me what to do, what not to do… Like you were my mum or my teacher or somethin’. I started to think I’d been wrong after all, that it had all been in my head and you’d never really liked me.”

“That’s not true.” It’s also possibly the biggest understatement of Howard’s life.

“I know that now. But it was drivin’ me mental. Something had to change, an’ then it all kicked off with the band, an’ suddenly we had a tour booked, an’ I was movin’ in with them, and I thought it’d make me feel happy, excited… or that it’d make you do something.”

“But it didn’t do either. It just painted you into a corner.”

“Yeah.” Vince sighs heavily. “I knew I’d gone wrong, soon’s I left the shop. But the lads were all there, waiting for me, and…”

Howard looks hastily away.

“No, you’re right to be bitter, an’ you’ve got me bang to rights. It was more important to look cool in front of them, than to admit you were right, and go back and sort things out with you. I should be ashamed of myself. And I am.”

He takes Howard’s hand between both of his. “I don’t deserve a second chance.”

“It’s not about deserving,” Howard says, his heart wrung by the sadness on Vince’s face. “I’m here for you, I’ll give you as many second chances as you need. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do. But that don’t mean I should take advantage.”

“You’re not. Vince, I don’t know – I don’t know what this is, I’ve no experience by which to judge, but I do know that you and I…”

“We’re meant to be together.” Vince squeezes Howard’s hand.

“Yeah, we are. Is that enough to be going on with?”

“Course it is.”

Vince still looks sad. Howard leans over and kisses him again, on the mouth this time, tasting salty tears and cherry lipgloss and coffee.

“Your back’s hurting,” Vince says, as their eyes meet.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Does too.” Vince bites his lip. “Howard, would you… why don’t you lie down? Then you’d be comfy, and I could – well, if you wanted – I could hold you, maybe?”

He sits up, to let Howard stretch out on the bed beside him. Howard wraps his arms around Vince, and holds on tight.

“Thanks, Howard,” Vince whispers; he buries his head in Howard’s shoulder, and starts to cry again.

He feels frail and shivery and insubstantial, and inestimably precious: a treasure that Howard never wants to let go.

But something is nagging at Howard, one last piece of the puzzle still out of place.

He waits patiently for Vince’s ragged breathing to calm.

“Vince… I’m sorry, but there’s something I need to ask you…”

“No, we didn’t.” Vince’s whole body tenses. “I swear to you, Howard, nothin’ happened with Dietrich, not like that. I know, he was a looker, and he wanted me. You tried to warn me. I didn’t exactly thank you.”

“I didn’t exactly go the right way about it, did I?”

“But you were right. We’d been all friendly, all week, an’ it was great, so easy, felt like I’d known him years. But when we got back to their place this afternoon, he started lookin’ at me all different, an’ it was like… like bein’ a sheep.”

“I’m sorry Vince, you’ve lost me there.”

“Lemme finish. It was like bein’ a sheep, bein’ eyed up by a tiger that wanted its dinner. It was scary. I just wanted get out of there and get back to you.”

Howard rubs Vince’s back reassuringly. Vince lifts his head and looks at Howard with reddened eyes. His goth makeup is all streaky and running, his hair tousled. He looks…

“No I don’t,” he mumbles, embarrassed. “I look horrible.”

“They do say love is blind.” Howard kisses him, very gently.

Vince snorts. “Just as well. Works both ways, ya know.”

“I am aware I’m not exactly your classical body type, sir, but I can assure you I keep everything in good order by a sensible diet and the regular use of Jazzercise.”

“An’ illegal substances peddled by alien midgets?”

“That was a one-off. And don’t knock it – it worked.”

“Looks like it worked for Naboo too,” Vince says drily. “I dunno what I thought I was goin’ to do when I got back here, but whatever it was, it went right out of the window when I walked in and saw you two all cuddled up on the sofa.”

“It wasn’t…” Howard protests.

Vince gives him an uncertain, lopsided smile. “I know it wasn’t. But it looked like it was. You looked so comfortable together, and I felt so empty, like half of me had been chopped off, an’ I was going to spend the rest of my life as half a person.”

“Half a person, with enough clothes for twelve.” Howard looks round at the crumpled garments strewn across the floor; at the open suitcase with the dent in the side. Then he looks back at Vince.

Vince's smile grows ever-so-slightly more certain. “Yeah, I know, you’re always tellin’ me I got too many clothes. But I also know that you don’t really mind. And that you’re goin’ to kiss me again… Whatever it was Naboo gave you, it’s genius. How long have we got before it wears off?”


	5. The Colours of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince and Howard learn to understand each other better... a LOT better...

‘Expect the unexpected’ they say, and this is certainly it.

By now, Vince had expected to be in front of a mirror, all cool and collected, putting the finishing touches to his fabulous makeup and hairdo in preparation for the gig that would launch him into his new life as a goth musician.

Instead, he’s lying on Howard’s bed, all sweaty, tear-streaked and tousled, trying to figure out what he can do to launch Howard into his new life as not a virgin any more.

Howard is keen, there’s no doubt about it. He trembles all over with either eagerness or fear, or possibly both, every time Vince kisses him; but although he’s hard, he keeps pulling away from Vince, trying not to let him feel it.

Vince is worried. He has to get this right, and usually he’s good at working out how to make people happy in bed, but Howard’s happiness matters more than anyone else’s ever has, and Vince doesn’t know what Howard wants, he really doesn’t. He puts his mouth close to Howard’s ear and whispers.

“What do you want? What would you really like?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You berk, you don’t need to, do you? Just look at me.”

“I – I can’t.” Howard blushes, and shuts his eyes. “It’s… too personal.”

“Too _personal_? Howard, we’re already on your bed and we’ve kissed and I’ve seen right inside your head and you’ve told me you love me and you know I’m not goin’ anywhere –”

The look on Howard’s face stops him short. He strokes Howard’s hair; cradles the big man’s head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I know. I talk too much as well. Listen, why don’t we just get into bed and get warm and have a sleepy and not worry about it. Then if something happens, it happens, and if it doesn’t…”

“All right. I’m, erm, just going to the bathroom.” Howard rolls off the bed and stands up, stiffly; Vince hears an audible creak that he’s almost sure is Howard’s back and not the bed frame, but decides this isn’t the time to make fun of Howard’s advanced age.

Frustrated, Vince sits on the bottom of Howard’s bed and chews at the side of his thumbnail. There must be a way to figure this out, one that doesn’t involve lots of fumbling and embarrassment.

He shuts his eyes, and sees a sudden flash of peacock blue. The brilliant colour that had flooded through his head at the moment Vince magically saw everything Howard felt about him, everything at once, and had to turn away and make that phone call before his brain melted from too much information.

Maybe all that too-much information is still in his head somewhere.

Vince sends an urgent memo to his brain cell’s secretary, and waits impatiently as she rummages at random through assorted boxes and cupboards until finally she unearths it, in an untidy pile stuffed into a little-used pigeonhole.

The imaginary pigeon is unceremoniously booted out in a flurry of imaginary feathers, and Vince starts to search.

He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for – just some clue, any clue, as to what Howard wants in the bedtimes department. He focuses his closed eyes on the flickering blueness, and in amongst all the hurt and frustration and maps of stationery village and half-composed trumpet solos and scat lyrics and pictures of his own face, he finds…

Oh, that is too funny. And also too sad. As well as just incredibly Howard.

The door creaks, and Vince jumps and opens his eyes.

“Your turn.”

“OK.” Vince gets up and heads for the bathroom.

As he brushes his teeth, he sends a bunch of mental roses to the secretary to thank her, and drags the brain cell away from watching himself on the TV so that he can help himself make a plan.

He’s still not sure whether to laugh or cry over what he’s just discovered.

What Vince wants by way of sex with Howard would look like a fuzzy cloud; he’s never really thought about it in much detail, except for hoping that it would happen one day, and thinking that it would be nice when it did.

But Howard has been thinking about sex with Vince for so long, he’s got it all neatly organized into a list on a sheet of lined paper, the items methodically numbered and waiting to be ticked off.

He’s clearly thought about it a _lot_.

The bottom of the paper is folded over half-way through Item Number 5, as though even Howard doesn’t dare look at the rest of the list. Finding out what that part says is going to be more of a challenge, one that might have to wait until they are more comfortable with each other, and preferably a bit less completely knackered from having stupid arguments and crying.

Meanwhile, Vince knows what Howard wants for starters, and he’s going to give it to him with knobs on, with bells and whistles on, with honey and sugar and whipped cream and cherries and rainbow sprinkles on the top.

Oh, yes. Tonight, Vince Noir is going to be the Man of Action.

On returning to the bedroom he’s a bit puzzled to find that Howard’s just lying on top of the bed, still fully clothed. Maybe he’s just too tired to get himself undressed. But that can be sorted when Vince gets to Item Number 2, after he’s finished with:

_Item Number 1. I want to see Vince ~~naked nude stripped~~ without any clothes on._

Without saying anything, Vince takes off his black jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair. Then he sits down on the chair and takes his boots off, and then his socks, nice and slow.

He can feel Howard’s eyes on him now, but doesn’t look at him. Instead, he makes a big deal of unbuttoning his shirt, touching his own nipples through the fabric, stripping it off, teasing his nipples again, stroking his stomach and the happy-trail of dark hair that leads down from his bellybutton to the already considerable bulge in his very tight trousers.

Still moving slowly, he undoes his belt and pulls it through the loops at his waist; unfastens the button of his trousers; unzips his fly very very slowly indeed, gyrating his hips to heighten the artistic effect.

This has to be the sexiest shape Vince Noir has ever pulled.

Howard whimpers faintly as Vince extricates himself from the grip of his black drainpipes.

Vince sneaks a glance before Howard can close his eyes again: Howard wants him to touch himself through his minimalist black pants, so he does, cupping and stroking his hot and eager tackle, before slowly peeling down the little briefs and stepping out of them.

He’s hugely turned on now, in every sense of the word, and it makes him feel a bit selfconscious to be out in the open with no clothes to hide behind, especially since his hair’s a mess and he’s got no makeup left to speak of, either; all the same, he stands in the middle of the floor and turns all the way round, to let Howard have a good long look before moving on to…

_Item Number 2. I want to be ~~naked~~ in bed with Vince ~~naked~~ without any clothes on (either of us)._

He crosses to the bed and sits down beside Howard, not touching him. Howard’s eyes are shut tight once more; his chest is heaving.

“You OK?” Vince clears his throat, his voice has gone all husky.

Howard nods. The straining tightness in his groin twitches at the same time.

“I’m gonna take your shoes off,” Vince says. Shoes seem like the safest place to start.

He takes hold of one brown shoelace, and pulls gently, watching the neat bow fall slowly apart, one loop pulling out, the knot in the middle coming loose and releasing the other end.

Who knew that shoelaces were so sexy?

He undoes the other bow and is partway through taking the shoe off, when Howard says faintly, “Don’t.”

Vince sighs inwardly; he was expecting something like this. But he tries to be patient and talk normally. “ ’S just your shoe, Howard. You can’t wear shoes in bed.”

“I’m sorry. But this is… it’s too much. Remember, I said, when I cross the physical boundary –”

“You’ve already crossed it, you Northern twerp.”

“Have I?”

Vince tries ever so hard not to laugh, but there’s a lump in his throat too. This is so confusing. It’s even confused him, and he’s the Great Confuser. It must be much worse for Howard, who doesn’t have anything to help explain it with.

He lets go of Howard’s foot and crawls up the bed to give him a chaste, friendly kiss on the cheek. “Yeah, you have. And anyway, this _is_ forever… isn’t it?”

Howard pulls in a deep breath, and holds it; lets it out again through his nose, very carefully.

“Howard?”

“I hope so… Yes. Yes, it is. It has to be.” Then Howard does something Vince wasn’t expecting: he opens his eyes.

“You _liked_ me getting my kit off,” Vince says, watching the slow flush spreading across Howard’s face, down his neck.

Howard nods.

“You’re gonna like me getting your kit off, too,” Vince tells him. “An’ don’t worry, that’s all I’m going to do, just slowly, an’ you tell me when I’ve got enough of it off, an’ then I’ll stop and we can go to bed. OK?”

“Sounds like a plan, Little Man.”

Howard shuts his eyes again and Vince scriggles back to the foot of the bed to take up where he left off: gently and patiently removing Howard’s shoes, then his socks, trying not to touch Howard’s bare skin too much yet, because even without magical assistance he would know that Howard was still not sure about wanting to be touched.

Howard’s bare feet look oddly vulnerable with their knobbly shapes and the veins showing bluish under their pale skin. Vince wants to touch them, run his fingers along their graceful arches, caress the swell of the ankle bone…

“Stop looking at my feet,” Howard mutters.

“I like lookin’ at your feet.”

“You’re weird, you are.” Howard sits up. “Why are you looking at my feet when you could be undoing my shirt buttons?”

“Because I didn’t know you wanted me to be undoin’ your shirt buttons, is why.”

“But I do.”

Vince looks up in surprise. There’s a shy smile on Howard’s face, and he’s sitting up very straight, not trying to undo the buttons himself, but waiting for Vince to do it.

Still careful to avoid sudden movements that might startle Howard into flight, Vince kneels astride Howard’s thighs, and reaches out to undo the topmost button, watching the pulse beating in Howard’s throat, aware of the nervous fluttering of Howard’s insides and of what an important moment this is.

Howard’s undressed Vince, down to his undies, loads of times: when Vince has been too drunk or too partied-out to be able and/or bothered to do it himself, or when Vince has picked an outfit with zips at the back or with tight, clingy parts he can’t escape from without help. Or when a diet of strawberry bootlaces, alcopops and Naboo’s hashcakes has once again proved too much for Vince’s insides…

And then Howard’s held Vince’s head over the toilet bowl, or helped him into the bath, or tucked him into bed.

Howard has always been there when Vince needed him; but he has never, ever, let Vince undress him before.

Vince fumbles a little with that first button, but the second one is easier, although Howard’s still panting as though he’s just run a marathon and so everything’s moving about… and there are the added distractions of the warmth and the lovely, familiar smell of the big man’s body, and the tempting glimpses of furred chest and even a dark, hardened nipple as the front of the Hawaiian shirt gapes open.

But still, somehow, Vince holds back from touching. That’s not what this is about, not yet. And he couldn’t bear it if after all his patient effort he still triggered Howard’s default don’t-touch-me reaction, which he knows is still too close to the surface for comfort.

So he keeps his hands on the orange-and-brown floral fabric as much as possible, undoing the cuff buttons and pulling each sleeve free in turn.

Then he sits back on his heels, feeling Howard’s bony knees under him, and Howard leans back on his elbows, and they just look…

Wow.

Somehow, it’s more intimate than kissing, or even looking inside Howard’s head. There’s nothing here that either of them hasn’t seen before… well, granted, Howard probably hasn’t seen Vince with this much of a hard-on before, unless he’s been spying on him in the shower, but still…

Vince could come from this, just sitting here with Howard like this, bravely and shyly looking at each other as though seeing everything for the first time.

 _Fuck,_ Howard is beautiful.

And he hasn’t even got his trousers off yet.

...

_Item Number 3.I want to touch Vince ~~’s hair **** -----~~ everywhere._

Naked and breathless, Howard flings his crumpled trousers and pants across the room in the vague general direction of the laundry basket, and sits back down on the bed with a triumphant smile on his face. “There.”

“See? I knew you could do it.” Vince can feel an equally triumphant smile spreading across his own face.

“Now what?” Howard’s smile wavers a bit; he looks suddenly shy.

“Whatever you want,” Vince whispers. “I’m all yours, Howard.”

A hand brushes across the edges of Vince’s hair. Vince leans into the touch, and feels Howard’s fingers running through his tangled locks, burrowing deeper to caress his scalp and the nape of his neck.

“Is that – is that all right?”

“Course it is. Nothing’s off limits, not even the hair.”

“Where else would you like me to…?”

Vince thinks of all the crossings-out on Howard’s list; wishes a few more of them had been legible, so he’d know which bits of him Howard really liked.

Then he catches Howard’s eye again, and sees that it doesn’t matter.

Because it’s _him_ , it’s _Vince_ , that Howard really likes; and Howard really wants this to be good for Vince too, only he can’t see into Vince’s head, so Vince will have to tell him.

Or show him.

Vince reaches up, and grips Howard’s wrists; pulls the big hands gently forwards, until they’re cupping his face. He nuzzles into Howard’s palm, and kisses the soft skin on the inside of one wrist, and then the other.

“My face,” he whispers, “touch my face, Howard, I’d really like that.”

Howard’s fingertips stroke gently, hesitantly, over Vince’s closed eyelids; across his brows; along his cheekbones. “You’ve never let me do this.”

“I would’ve, if I’d known you wanted. And if I’d known it’d feel like this.” Vince presses his cheek against Howard’s hand, like a cat wanting to be stroked some more.

“You always had facepaint on. Warning people away. Like a ‘Keep Off The Grass’ sign. Don’t touch the Face of Noir, it must remain immaculate. Like the hair.”

“I’m not going to be inaccurate any more,” Vince says. “Not for you anyway. I know exactly how good this feels… Howard…”

The gentle touches are taking Vince apart completely, stripping him barer than he’s stripped himself, as though his skin’s come off too and Howard is touching his heart and soul. There’s a lump in his throat, and sudden tears spilling from under his closed eyelids.

“Sssshh,” Howard whispers, and runs a finger along Vince’s trembling lips. “I know, Little Man. I know. We had a near miss there, didn’t we? But it’s going to be all right now.”

Vince keeps his eyes closed, and Howard kisses him softly on the mouth, kisses his tears away, goes on kissing down his chin and throat and into the hollow of Vince’s collarbone, where Vince had never even known it was nice to be kissed; and with a little encouragement, he is soon kissing around Vince’s hard nipples, and that is very nice indeed.

So nice that very soon Vince is stretched out on the bed, with Howard lying beside him, and now when they kiss, Howard is still trembling but it’s definitely because he’s turned on and not at all because he’s scared.

Well, maybe a bit. But not enough to make him stop. And he doesn’t seem to notice when his erection bumps against Vince’s side.

Howard’s hands carry on stroking Vince’s skin, and discover a few other sensitive spots that Vince didn’t know he had. It’s getting harder and harder… more and more difficult to hold back from the huge and messy climax that is building up inside Vince, but he doesn’t want to let go, not yet. He knows Howard is a bit apprehensive about bodily fluids, and that certain things will need careful handling.

The thought of Howard carefully handling certain things is almost Vince’s undoing.

Perhaps he can distract himself a bit by starting work on…

_Item Number 4. I want Vince to touch me._

Vince opens his eyes. “Howard?”

“What is it?” Howard leans up on his elbow, and looks anxiously into Vince’s face.

“Can I touch you too?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I – you didn’t need to ask, just – Please. Yes.” Howard buries his face in Vince’s shoulder, and his voice comes out all muffled. “God, you had me worried for a moment there. I thought I’d done something wrong.”

“Howard, right now this minute I don’t think you could do anything wrong if you tried.” This isn’t easy stuff to say without giggling and being embarrassed, but it needs to be said, because Howard needs to hear it. “I’ve never felt like this with anybody before. Not even I could make me feel this good. So stop worryin’ about it.”

And Vince starts to run his hands over Howard’s skin. Although the wishlist didn’t go into much detail – clearly it was quite a big step for Howard to admit, even to himself, that he wanted to be touched at all – Vince knows at least some of the places where Howard is particularly sensitive, and it doesn’t take him long to discover some of the others.

He has no idea how he himself doesn’t come on the spot when Howard finally relaxes and lets him stroke the soft brown thatch in his groin, and then take Howard’s shaft in his hand…

But still he has the feeling Howard wants more.

Another glance from those brown eyes tells him what he already suspected: that what Howard really, really wants is to be touched – _there_.

It takes a while for Vince to pluck up the courage, and another anxious couple of minutes working his free hand gently into the cleft between Howard’s bum-cheeks. Howard is taking big shaky breaths and making funny little whimpering noises, but he doesn’t pull back or take Vince’s hand away.

 _There._ Vince feels hot, puckered skin under his fingertips, and it’s like an electric shock straight to his groin, but he doesn’t have time to think more than “Oh,” because Howard is coming, all over Vince’s other hand and his own stomach, and he’s groaning and cursing and then apologising.

“Hey.” Vince pulls him into an awkward, slightly sticky hug. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.” Howard’s face is all screwed up, as though he’s trying not to cry. “I – I wanted my first time to be special…”

“An’ it was. You came in my hand.”

Howard sniffs miserably. “Exactly.”

“No. No-no-no, Howard, that’s not what I meant. Listen.” Vince takes a deep breath. Explaining isn’t his strong point. “You came in my hand – ”

“Stop going on about it. I feel bad enough as it is.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Howard, will you just listen for one minute?” Vince pins Howard flat on his back, a hand on each shoulder, and leans his forehead against Howard’s. “Cos you’re not gettin’ it, an’ I need you to understand this. You came in _my_ hand. Not in anyone else’s hand, or anyone else’s anywhere else, or – or over the tits of some pissed bird you got off with at a student party who then wiped herself down with your favourite jacket, laughed in your face and never spoke to you again…”

He swallows hard. “See, my first time wasn’t special. But yours was. You were with someone who actually knows your name and actually does give a shit about you, and who’ll be there for the second time and the third time an’ all the times after that, if you want. And who doesn’t mind if you last three seconds or three hours. Now do you get it?”

“Oh, Vince.” Howard’s warm hands stroke Vince’s back; pull him close. “It’s all gone a bit wrong. But I do see what you mean… and… Thank you. Thank you for making it special.”

“The next one’ll be better, I promise.” Vince snuggles into Howard’s neck. “An’ it doesn’t matter if we don’t do things in the right order an’ they get a bit mixed up…”

Howard freezes. “What do you mean, in the right order? How did you know – about the striptease, and where to – Did you read my private list?”

“Well, I, um…” It isn’t fair to hide. After all, Howard can’t. “I did, yes. Sorry. Well, the striptease wasn’t actually there in so many words, it was just a good guess, an’ you hadn’t actually put where you wanted me to touch, but I can see when I look at you, an’ I only read as far as where you’d folded it over, honest.”

Howard says nothing, but Vince can feel him blushing, the skin of his throat and shoulder growing hot.

“I just wanted to make it nice for you,” Vince pleads. “An’ you did – you did take that potion because you wanted me to see the stuff you couldn’t tell me…”

“You have a point there, Little Man.” Howard doesn’t sound quite so horrified now; Vince relaxes ever so slightly. “And I suppose… if you knew what was next on the list… it might make it easier…”

“It might,” Vince agrees, trying not to sound too eager.

“If I unfold it… and you just look at the next item or two…”

“It’s OK, Howard, you know I’m a slow reader.”

“And you promise not to laugh? Remember, I don’t know very much about any of this.”

Vince kisses Howard’s cheek. “I promise. I ’preciate this, Howard, I really do. I know it’s not easy for you.”

He lifts his head, and looks deep into Howard’s brown eyes.

“There you go,” Howard says, his voice slightly hoarse all of a sudden. “Item Number 5.” And he shuts his eyes again, very quickly.

“Genius.” Vince kisses him again. “That’s exactly what I would have done next anyway. An’ you’d even drawn a diagram an’ everything – ”

“Only because I couldn’t bring myself to write the words.”

“The words _‘I want Vince to give me a fantastic blowie’_?”

“Erm, something like that, I suppose, yes.”

“Your wish is my command.” Vince sits up, and bends over.

“No. Stop. We can’t…”

“You not ready for more yet? You Northern types, no stamina.”

“It’s not that. But I’m… I’ve… you know.”

“Howard, it’s only a bit of sticky, I don’t mind.”

“But I do.”

Vince thinks about arguing, and doesn’t. Time for more honesty instead.

“I, er, well, ’fraid I peeked at the next one as well.”

That one did have words.

_Item Number 6. I want to go ‘all the way’, whatever exactly that involves._

“Oh.” Howard sounds doubtful; then he heaves a sigh. “Well, at least you didn’t laugh.”

“Why would I? It’s what I want too. An’ I might know a bit more than you, but I don’t know exactly what it’ll involve, for you and me, cos everyone’s different, but we can take our time findin’ out. You know, what you like and what I like and all that.”

Howard rolls onto his back, and stares at the ceiling.

“Vince, I’ve… I feel a bit of a tit, not knowing, but I’ve never had anyone I felt I could ask. And I know there’s a lot of stuff on the internet about sex, and I did look, a bit, but quite frankly some of it scared me and most of the rest of it was just so… sordid. Tacky.”

“And you wanted it to be romantic and beautiful.” Vince reaches for Howard’s hand. “I think we might be able to manage that. Although…”

“Although what? Is it going to hurt, or something?” Howard’s grip tightens.

“I hope not. But it might. Depends what we do. An’ some of it could be uncomfy, or messy, or… Howard, I’ll do my best to make it perfect and lovely for you, but I can’t promise… I’m not superhuman or anything. I’m just me. All that stuff about bein’ a rock star and a fashion diva, that’s just window dressin’ and ballcrap, there’s a real boy under there an’ he’s a bit messed up in his mind-tank and not very bright either. But he’s smart enough to know when he’s onto a good thing, and you, my friend, are it.”

Howard turns his head and looks at Vince with pure love. “Vince, I’ve… I’ve never heard you talk like that before. I don’t know what to say…”

“Then don’t say anything, Big Man, or I’ll start cryin’ again. Tell you what, let’s go an’ have a shower, get un-stickied, then maybe we can tackle Number Five. Does that sound like a plan?”

“It sounds uncommonly like a plan, sir. Evidently my highly organized influence is rubbing off on you.”

“Yeah.” Vince giggles, and runs a finger through a particularly sticky patch. “An’ that’s not all that’s rubbed off on me.”

“You, sir, have a filthy mind.”

“I know… But isn’t that why you love me? Hey, no, don’t answer that… Last one in the shower gets to clean the hair filter!” And Vince bounds off the bed and heads for the door, only to be felled by a flying tackle from a surprisingly nimble Northern Bullet, coming at him like a bean or a rustle or whatever it is Howard always says, only Vince is never listening.

There follows a very nice bit of rolling around on the bedroom carpet in amongst the wreckage of Vince’s abandoned clothes, before they call a truce and go down the passage to the bathroom, hand in hand and stark naked.

“Hi Bollo!” Howard calls breezily, as they pass the open door of the kitchen.

“Ugh,” a deep voice growls from behind a mound of Shamansbury’s carrier bags, “I didn’t need to see that.”

The kitchen door bangs shut.

Howard in the shower is something Vince has seen before, only he’s never been in the shower at the same time, and now he can touch as well as look, and doesn’t have to pretend to be looking somewhere else so as to preserve the big man’s modesty, because Howard seems to have thrown most of his modesty away along with his underpants.

They start with the routine cleaning-up, with plenty of silliness and bubbles and tickling and arguing over who’s going to bend down to pick up the soap every time Vince drops it accidentally-on-purpose; then there is the serious business of hair-washing, which turns rapidly less serious when Howard starts sculpting his own soapy locks into ever more ludicrous spikes; then all those bubbles have to be very thoroughly rinsed away, and then…

Vince catches Howard’s eye, and stands just apart from him for a long moment, drinking in the sight of that great big beautiful clean body, before dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms round Howard’s waist.

He looks up; he’s never seen Howard from this angle before. The hot water cascades over Howard’s shoulders, dripping from his hard nipples, streaming down his front…

“Howard?”

“Yes,” Howard says breathlessly. “Please…”

Vince takes the big man’s big cock gently in his hand, stroking and teasing it to fullness.

He cups Howard’s wet balls with his other hand, and Howard heaves in a ragged breath as Vince leans forward and takes him into his mouth, very slowly, giving him plenty of time to get used to it.

It’s quite a lot to get used to. In every sense. Vince licks around the soft folds of foreskin, tasting salt and bubblebath, moving his lips down over the ridge of Howard’s tip, moulding his mouth to Howard’s shape.

He tries a careful suck, his tongue pressed against hard, pulsing flesh.

“Oh.” Howard braces himself against the wall, gasping for air. “Oh, yes, that’s just… Oh.”

Vince didn’t think he was very good at blowjobs, but he seems to be getting this one right so far. He keeps one hand round the base of Howard’s erection, to make sure he can’t take it in too deep and make himself heave, he knows that’s a huge turnoff. And he doesn’t want to spoil this, especially as it seems unlikely to last much longer.

Howard’s hands grip Vince’s hair, clinging and tangling. “Oh…”

His knees are trembling. And now Vince is tasting something that is more like earth than salt, and he didn’t think it was possible for the prick in his mouth to get any bigger, but it definitely has.

Vince slides off, and flexes his jaw, just to make sure it’s still working. He looks up. Howard is flushed and tousled and his chest is heaving. Vince is quite proud of the effect he’s having so far.

“Is something wrong?” Howard looks worried. “Do you want to stop?”

“No, nothing like that. Just… D’you want to come in my mouth?”

“Well, I… I hadn’t really thought about it, but… Is that OK? You don’t have to, I mean if you don’t want, but if you…”

Vince grins. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then.”

Howard slips back into Vince’s mouth as if he belonged there, and it doesn’t take much, just a few slides up-and-down and some delicate tonguing, to put him past the point of no return.

“OH!” The grip on Vince’s hair is almost painful. Howard arches his back, and thrusts, and groans, and Vince feels it with him, feels the joy and the pleasure and the scaredness and the moment when Howard lets go of it all, right down Vince’s throat.

Vince can’t remember ever really liking the taste of come, it’s always reminded him of uncooked pancake mix, the sort of thing you eat as a kid and then wish you hadn’t. But this… this tastes of Howard, pure Howard, and Vince can’t get enough of it.

When he’s licked Howard clean of every last drop, the big man slides down the wall to sit beside him in the shower tray, the water still cascading over both of them. “Thanks,” Howard whispers. “That was…”

Howard Moon, out of words? It must have been good.

“Yeah. It was, wasn’t it?” Vince smiles, and Howard is smiling too, and then kissing him, and he hadn’t expected that Howard would want to share, but he doesn’t seem to be put off by it.

Howard’s a good kisser, and getting better by the minute, and now he’s wrapping a soapy hand around Vince’s bits, which Vince had rather forgotten about in the excitement but which are very eager on their own account.

After that things get rather blurred for a while and a lot seems to be happening at once: Howard’s big hands seem to be everywhere, tickling and stroking and squeezing until finally Vince’s climax hits him and it’s every bit as huge and messy as he’d expected, plus it’s pretty noisy, too.

He hopes Bollo’s got his headphones on. He probably didn’t need to hear that.

“And what about you?” Howard asks, as he’s towelling his hair dry.

“What about me, what?”

“Well, you read my list, and all that, but I never asked you. What do _you_ really want?”

“I’ve got it.” Vince grins, and grabs Howard’s warm, slightly damp arse. “Oh, and… pancakes.”

“Pancakes?”

“Yeah. ’S been a long time since lunch, an’ I didn’t have any lunch. Come on.”

In case Bollo is still lurking, they pull on dressing gowns before they head for the kitchen, singing the pancake crimp in perfect unison.

Nice one, Man of Action. Vince congratulates himself on heading Howard off at the pass, before Vince could blurt out that he’d read right to the end of the list and sneaked a peek at Item Number 7.

Because neither of them is ready for that, yet.


	6. to darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo wakes up, and Howard makes pancakes

_you wake from uneasy sleep,_

_half-smothered by the sofa cushions, head and heart both aching and the coil of frustration and dread slithering low and heavy in your guts_

_their singing and laughter drills right into your brain_

_you want to be happy for them, you really do, it’s partly for their sake you’re in this state, you stupid tit, but you also really want them to shut up so you fumble around for your dark glasses, the very big and very dark ones you save for your worst hangovers, pull your crumpled robe sort-of straight and stagger down the passageway_

_they’re in the kitchen making dinner, or a mess, or probably both if you know them_

_\- nutella or syrup, little man?_  
- _on what?_  
\- _on your pancakes, you twerp_ … 

_you haven’t heard the big man laugh like that in ages, possibly ever, and part of you is sorry when you fling the door open and the laughter stops as you snap_

_\- what the fuck’s goin’ on?_

_but he starts sniggering again as vince whispers - both on the pancakes, but save a bit of nutella for later_

_\- sorry naboo, we were hungry - howard is holding a frying pan and trying to keep a straight face - you want some?_

_as vince unwraps himself from howard you are struck by how thin vince’s body is, not nearly enough of it covered by that little silky kimono thing, he’s been starving himself even more than usual to try to fit in with those skinny bastards in that crappy band_

_howard is looking at vince as though he’s a small mammal in need of feeding, his zookeeper training often comes out in times of crisis, when he isn’t begging people not to kill him because he’s got so much to give_

_and now he’s looking at you like that, too, and you’re glad of the dark glasses because right now even you don’t wanna look at what’s in your soul, and the best zookeeper training in the world (which his certainly wasn’t) wouldn’t be any help_

_even through the thick black lenses you can see the happiness shining in his eyes, and you know you did a good thing there and even you don’t believe you did it just to get your salesman back_

_like you give a shit about the shop anyway_

_part of you just wants to crawl over to him and beg him to take care of you again, to hold you, so you can go to sleep with those big solid arms around you and that broad chest breathing against your back, and never wake up_

_his mouth was so gentle and his simple kindness was not at all what you expected, it almost broke you, almost made you tell him everything_

_but you never tell anyone anything unless you have to, do you? not even bollo_

_your familiar isn’t allowed to be really familiar_

_(it’s against the shaman rules, number four thousand and seventy-two in the big blue book_

_although you have your suspicions about dennis and that rabbit of his, tony swears that three of its last litter of baby bunnies had milky blue eyes_

_mind you, the h-man hasn’t a leg to stand on, metaphorically or literally, since at least one of the litter before had suspiciously long and very pink ears)_

_and anyway you wouldn’t ask bollo for that sort of comfort_

_not even when it comes to the crunch_

_when you will be forced to beg for help from your usual source, help that you know will be given but begrudged, that you know will make you end up whining for it or passing out from the pain, or if you’re really lucky, both_

_the last time was so bad you almost gave up, but so good that the thought of the next time makes you weak at the knees_

_or maybe that’s just because you can’t remember when you last ate_

_and fuck you to xooberon and back, those pancakes smell good, howard’s not half a bad cook, makes up for vince being useless (attention span too short) and the fact that the only thing you ever wanna cook is hashcakes and actually bollo mostly makes those because you’re too stoned…_

_\- naboo? naboolio?_

_now they’re both staring at you_

_\- fucksake harold, just give him some, he must have munchies, he always does - bollo is sitting at the table tucking into a stack of pancakes with sliced bananas_

_you lean against the doorframe and try to play it cool_

_\- hey bollo_

_\- hey naboo - you can tell he isn’t fooled, he never is actually, although he goes along with the dumb-animal routine to save your pride_

_howard is still holding the frying pan and somehow it seems a long way to the nearest chair_

_vince puts his plate down and comes over to the door - you ok? no, you’re not, are you, you look terrible, is it because of that potion, it worked brilliantly, total genius, and listen, i really really appreciate it, ’s one of the kindest things anybody’s ever done for me, well, for us, and if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be here now and we’d both be miserable and -_

_you wish he’d just shut up, your head’s splitting and… no, vince no, please don’t…_

_you really can’t handle this, it’s what your soul craves more than anything, but it’s gonna make you cry and that is just so not cool in front of your employees_

_but you don’t have the strength to resist and you hear yourself mutter - lemme go, you ballbag - at the same time as you put your arms round him too, and hang on_

_he’s even skinnier than he looks, and he smells of howard_

_a sob starts to gather somewhere deep inside you, and bollo senses it and comes to your rescue before it gets to the surface_

_\- precious vince, naboo need to eat now, before he waste away to stick-man like you_

_the mood is broken and vince lets you go_

_bollo puts a big hairy arm around you just a bit tighter than he needs to and for just a bit longer than it would normally take to get you across the kitchen and onto a chair_

_(this is why you keep him on as your familiar, despite the cockups and the lost magic books and the breakages and the poor correlation between what’s on your shopping list and what’s in the actual shopping he brings home)_

_the pancakes are every bit as fucking delicious as you hoped_

_vince loads your plateful with nutella, banana, custard, syrup and rainbow sprinkles and you half-wonder whether he noticed anything_

_you know howard did, but you also know he won’t give you away_

_so you mutter your thanks and then you just sit and eat_

_it’s not only humans who find massive piles of carbs comforting sometimes_

_you’re still eating when they say goodnight and wander off, dumping the sticky plates in the sink, bollo rolls his eyes and mutters - shitfaces, what do they think I am, dishwasher machine?_

_\- leave it bollo, they’re in love_

_\- bollo know, bollo hear them in shower, bollo didn’t need to hear that, but it good to see precious vince happy_

_\- yeah - your throat is tight_

_\- bollo curious, what is item number five and why they need nutella in bedroom? i gotta bad feeling about tomorrow’s laundry_

_\- dunno - you shrug, and you don’t tell him he’s lucky that that’s the only bad feeling he’s got, because you can’t get out more than one word at a time_

_\- you ok, naboo?_

_all you can do is shake your head, and the tears well up and there’s nothing you can do to stop them_

_sometimes it’s just too hard to pretend any more_

_he doesn’t ask_

_he just picks you up and carries you to the bedroom_


	7. Mellow Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bollo does the laundry; Vince and Howard go back to work. (This is a nice fluffy chapter to soften you up for the angst and tentacles that are still to come.)

Howard wakes with an unaccustomed lightness in his heart, and the scent of chocolate and hazelnuts in his nostrils.

The first can easily be explained by the fact that a warm, stark naked Vince is slumbering happily beside him; the second, by the Nutella smears on the pillowcase and the distinctly sticky residue in Howard’s moustache.

Howard finds himself smiling broadly at the memory of exactly how all that chocolate got exactly where it did.

Vince stirs, and makes an enquiring sound.

“Morning, Little Man,” Howard says quietly.

A frown creases Vince’s forehead, as though he’s trying to remember something; then he smiles, and opens his eyes. “Morning, Howard… Hey, Howard? Howard! Howard…”

“What?”

“I’m in your bed! Genius!”

“So you are,” Howard agrees.

“Hey, Howard!”

“Yes?”

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Erm… what?” It means everything, and Howard knows Vince knows it does, but whatever daft game Vince is playing, Howard’s happy to play along.

“It means we can do _this_.”

“And _this_?”

“Ooooh, yeah, I like your thinkin’, Big Man. An’ while we’re about it, let’s have some more of _this_ …”

There is a loud bang on the door. “And when you finish all _that_ , don’t forget it laundry day today, and you two need to be working in shop by nine o’clock.”

“Yes, Bollo,” they chorus in perfect unison.

After some hasty pulling-on of clothes and strategic folding-up of bedlinen so that the worst of the chocolate stains are hidden, they take the laundry-bag along to the kitchen, where Bollo is muttering to himself as he takes the dirty teatowels off the rail.

“Bout time,” he grunts.

“And a very good morning to you, too,” Howard retorts.

“Piss off, Harold.” Bollo grabs the bag from Vince, and starts to stuff the teatowels roughly into it.

“How’s Naboo?” Vince asks.

“Resting. You not to disturb him while Bollo at laundrette.” Bollo hunches over, and glares at a teatowel that’s fallen on the floor. If looks could kill, and Earth teatowels were living organisms, that towel would be a goner.

“Hey Bollo, what’s wrong?” Vince puts a hand on the gorilla’s arm.

The big shoulders heave with a gusty sigh. “Naboo take glasses off last night.”

“And you saw what he was thinking,” Howard says softly.

Bollo grunts in agreement, and looks up, his brow even more furrowed than usual. “Naboo love Bollo second best in whole universe, and he want Bollo to know that, but Bollo see something he not supposed to see…”

“That’s the downside of this potion stuff.” Vince’s fingers tangle into Bollo’s black fur. “You can’t choose to see just the good bits, you get all or nothing. And something’s up with Naboo, isn’t it?”

“Mmm. Naboo gotta bad feeling about something, and now I gotta bad feeling about his bad feeling… and... I gotta do laundry. Forget I said anything else. No, no need help, Bollo old but not so old he can’t carry two bags of washing, fuck off, get to work.”

He grabs the bags and stomps off down the stairs.

Vince stands there with his hand still outstretched, and shakes his head. “What was that all about?”

“Dunno. He’s just fed up because Naboo’s a bit under the weather. I suppose, when you’re four hundred and six, it’s only to be expected that you’ll have an off-day now and again. And Naboo did say doing magic takes it out of him …”

“And what he did for us was magic.” Vince is grinning again now.

“It certainly was.” Howard can’t find it in himself to be worried about anything for long this morning; the sun is shining and everything looks colourful and exotic, especially Vince, who is swanning around in his Liberty peacock-print suit, Howard having chosen it for him as being the least gothic of the outfits that were still hanging in the wardrobe and not strewn around the floor.

Even the shop looks bright and cheerful when they finally get the shutters up at ten-thirty, and when Howard announces it’s stocktaking time Vince grins and says: “I’ll come and help you.”

“Thank you,” Howard says politely. “In that order?”

There is dead silence for a whole three seconds before Vince is rolling on the floor, crying with laughter.

Stocktaking becomes a pleasure, not a chore, when you redefine it as ‘snogging in the stationery cupboard’ instead of ‘counting things’. Howard wishes he’d let Vince teach him that years ago.

Customers, however – and unusually for a Friday, there actually are some, it must be the nice weather bringing them out – customers are a different matter altogether.

Because the potion hasn’t worn off yet, so Howard can’t look anybody (except Vince) in the eye without either frightening them off or getting punched on the nose.

Vince is no help because each time this happens, he is reduced to helpless giggles and has to go and hide.

None of which is any good for their sales figures, which remain at an obstinate zero all morning, in spite of Howard trying to serve customers with his eyes shut, or with his back turned, or staring up at the ceiling and pretending he was changing a lightbulb and his neck got stuck in that position.

At lunchtime, they stick a home-made ‘CLOSED FOR LUNCH’ sign on the door, reckoning that it won’t hurt their finances to shut the shop for an hour. In fact, Vince suggests, it might actually improve them, since it removes the risk of things getting broken or of customers demanding compensation for injuries sustained while taking a swing at Howard.

Howard turns his back on the window – just in case – and Vince goes out for sandwiches.

He comes back with a newspaper as well.

“I didn’t know you’d started taking an interest in current affairs, Vince.”

Vince tosses the folded paper onto the counter. “I haven’t. You know I’m a slow reader an’ I only ever read Cheekbone. This looks well boring. But I thought you could try hiding behind it. Especially if we get any more fat old ladies comin’ in the shop. That last one slapped you up something wicked.”

“Thank you, Vince. That’s, um, very thoughtful of you.” Howard nibbles politely at his mild cheese sandwich and tries not to watch Vince wolfing down three doughnuts and a chocolate éclair in rapid and messy succession. It is good to see Vince eating again, but even so… a man could be put off his lunch.

An idea strikes Howard; he unfolds the paper and retreats behind it. Pity it doesn’t drown out the sound effects as well, but then you can’t have everything.

A familiar face jumps out of a photo on page two, and Howard suddenly chokes on his wholemeal bread.

“Wassup?” Vince mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs and cream.

Howard wipes his eyes and clears his throat. “Your… um… friend Dietrich’s in the paper.”

“Ex-friend,” Vince says firmly. “Why?”

Howard offers him the paper, but Vince shakes his head. “Read it to me. I like hearin’ your voice. My hands are sticky. An’ I don’t wanna see his face ever again.”

“ _Up-and-coming goth rockstar Dietrich Darmfuhrung, 29_ –”

“Yeah, right,” Vince mutters.

“ – _caused a sensation this morning by jumping into the tiger enclosure at Robert’s Park Zoo, formerly Bob Fossil’s Funworld_.”

“Twat. What was he trying to pull, some half-arsed publicity stunt?”

“ _The German-born musician was apparently attempting to commit suicide after the previous night’s sellout performance by his band ‘Kraftstrauch’ was slated by fans and critics, and even the other band members, as a disaster. The guitarist is alleged to have been ‘very depressed’ and to have said that he wanted to end it all in a spectacular way…_ ”

“No,” Vince wails, “no, Howard, I didn’t mean for that to happen, I know he was a prize tit an’ everything, but I wouldn’t have wished that on him…”

“It’s all right. Listen. _The tiger, however, refused to eat him, and is quoted as saying ‘I prefer the bones people throw me to have some meat on them.’ Mr. Darmfuhrung was rescued by the zookeeper on the early shift, Bob 'Skinny Ribs' Jordan, 23, who was announced as the band’s new vocalist at a press conference an hour ago._ ”

Vince heaves a huge sigh of relief, and mimics Howard's reading voice. “The band’s former lead singer, Vince Noir, was unavailable for comment, but if anybody’d asked him he would have said good luck and good riddance to the lot of ’em.”

“You don’t regret leaving the band?”

“Howard.” Vince takes the paper away, and grips Howard’s hands in his own.

The magical connection is weakening, or maybe Howard’s just got used to it; it’s not a shock to look into those blue eyes any more, it’s a nice comforting feeling, like the hand-holding.

“Howard, no, of course I don’t. If I’m ever going to be in a band again, it’ll be one with you and me in it. And nobody else. Don’t worry. I mean, I know you will worry, you worry about everything, that’s like me sayin’ don’t breathe, but I mean… don’t worry about you and me.” He kisses Howard on the cheek. “Uh-oh, here comes our first after-lunch customer. Worry about her instead…” and he skips across the shop to take the sign down off the door.

The first after-lunch customer is a pleasant-faced, middle-aged lady who isn’t even slightly fat, and who is looking for a bookmark with a jazz theme.

All goes well until Howard is just about to take her money, when he glances up and receives a swift clout on the nose for thinking how nice it is to know that there’s someone out there who’s not that old but who’s got even more and wrinklier crow’s feet than he has himself.

Howard sighs as he mops up the trickle of blood, and puts the bookmark carefully back in its correct alphabetical position in the rack.

It’s going to be a long afternoon.

“Here you go, these might help.” Vince is holding out a pair of Naboo’s very big, very dark dark glasses. “Put these on.”

“I’ll look a complete tit.”

“A complete tit who doesn’t get attacked by angry grannies, yeah? Gotta be worth a try… Heyyyy.” Vince sidles up to Howard and grinds seductively against him. “You look hot in shades. You should wear them all the time.”

“No way.” Howard takes them off again. “Sunglasses are not part of the Moon look, sir. Except on seaside holidays.”

“Well, they should be. They suit you.”

“Vince, get off me, I can’t serve customers with you glued to my front.”

“What customers?” Vince gestures at the empty shop. The two of them stand motionless. A ball of tumbleweed blows across the chequered tiling, complete with whistling wind effects.

“Howard?”

“Vince?”

“I think we need to accessorize you a bit. There’s something missing…” Vince cocks his head to one side and looks appraisingly at Howard. “Hey, yeah, I know! Genius. I’ve got just the thing. Wait there.”

And before Howard can open his mouth to protest, Vince has darted off, and there is the sound of high heels clattering up the stairs.

The shop bell tinkles, and two pretty blonde girls come in, chattering and giggling.

Howard puts on his best ‘professional shopkeeper’ expression, as well as he can anyway while staring fixedly down at his shoes. “Good afternoon, ladies. Can I help you?”

They giggle some more. Howard groans inwardly. Business as usual. But at least it’s an improvement on being punched on the nose.

“What happened to your nose?” one of them asks.

Howard shrugs. “Long story.”

They giggle (no surprises there, then) and wander into the corner by the window to look at the bookshelf.

Howard turns his back on them, and pretends to be re-categorizing the paperclips in Paperclip Park.

“Hey, Howard!” Vince bounds cheerfully back into the shop. “I’ve got it… What?”

“Customers, Vince,” Howard stage-whispers.

“Oh, yeah. So there are. Hi, girls!” Vince waves, and blows them a kiss.

They giggle.

“They’re… a bit limited on the conversation front,” Howard mutters.

“Never mind about that. Check this out!” Vince reaches up and slips something over Howard’s head: a chain, cold against the back of his neck.

Howard frowns. “Vince, I don’t wear jewellery. Jewellery is not part of the Moon look, either. Whatever that is, you can take it off again right now.”

“But it’s perfect, Howard. It goes with your music theme. Come and look in the mirror, come on…”

The girls are staring. Howard can feel himself blushing.

“It looks great, really it does,” Vince pleads. “Better on you than on me, and there’s not many of my things I’d say that about. Although” – he giggles – “it might apply to some of my underwear.”

“Just get it off me,” Howard grits through clenched teeth.

Vince shakes his head, and grabs Howard’s shoulders, turning him round to face the mirror behind the counter.

Howard looks. And looks again.

Actually… Vince might have a point.

Howard is wearing Vince’s pendant, the one with the silver guitar; and in combination with a Hawaiian shirt and dark glasses, it might in fact look quite…

Without saying anything, Vince reaches around Howard from behind, and undoes one more button on the shirt.

Howard picks up the glasses from the counter, and puts them on again.

This might just be the new Moon look. And even if it isn’t, even if he does look a complete tit, Howard reckons it’s worth it just to see the expression on Vince’s face.

Vince Noir looking in a mirror, but not looking at himself? Wonders will never cease.

“Thanks, Vince,” Howard says quietly.

Vince grins. “Told you you needed accessorizing. And I still wanna check out my underwear theory later…”

“Excuse me.”

Howard spins round. “Yes, miss?”

“Do you have any more of those cool sunglasses?”

By the end of the day, they have sold all six of Naboo’s spare pairs of sunglasses, as well as a couple of pairs of old Polaroids that Howard found lurking in the bottom of his wardrobe, relics of some long-forgotten seaside holiday.

Naboo wanders into the shop just as they are cashing up. Well, just as they are about to get round to cashing up…

“You ballbags sell anythin’ today?”

Vince un-plasters himself from Howard’s front, and takes his hands out of Howard’s trouser pockets. “Yeah, we did actually… Hey, you feelin’ better?”

“I wasn’t feelin’ bad,” Naboo says, deadpan as usual.

Vince snorts. “Like we believe that.”

“Believe what you like. Yesterday was yesterday. An’ I’m Naboo, that’s who. I don’t feel bad. I just feel my age sometimes.”

“Are you high?” Howard asks.

“Course I am.” Naboo smiles serenely at him. “But not so high that I don’t know that somebody’s nicked all my spare pairs of shades. What’ve you done with them?”

Vince smiles in a way that would turn Howard’s knees to jelly in an instant, but which he must know will have no effect on their employer whatsoever. “Naboolio, old friend, you know when I said we sold some stuff today…”


	8. Through a Glass, Darkly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of smut. A bit of magic. And a bit of chatting. Not necessarily in that order.

“Six of my seven spare pairs of shades – nicked.” Naboo glares at Vince and Howard. “That’s a hundred and twenty euros. I’m stopping it out of your wages.”

“But –”

“No excuses, Vince. You pair of numpties, you’re supposed to sell the shop stock in here, not my personal property without my permission.”

“But you’ve still got the ones Howard’s wearing. An’ surely you don’t need seven spare pairs.”

Naboo snorts. “Listen, when I’m hung over I’m hung over. And I need to be able to find my shades, fast, OK? Two pairs behind the counter, one in the stockroom, kitchen, lounge, bathroom, two in the bedroom. Sorted. Or would be, if idiots didn’t steal them.”

“But –”

“An’ another thing. What do I do for a livin’? I’m a mighty shaman. What am I?”

“You’re a mighty shaman,” Howard and Vince mumble in unison.

“Yeah. An’ a mighty shaman’s personal property shouldn’t just go into the outside world willy-nilly. Take a look at this.” He slaps the evening edition of the local newspaper down on the counter top.

_Glamorous Granny besieged by eager suitors at bus stop…_

_‘Macho Milkman Floats our Boats,’ say Dalston housewives as they queue round the block for cream…_

_New duo ‘The Laughter Girls’ get recording contract in just five minutes…_

“Hey, look, Howard, that’s those two girls who wouldn’t stop gigglin’ at you.” Vince points at the photo. “Cool!”

“Not cool,” Naboo snaps. “Not even slightly. You tit.”

“So, um, these are magic glasses, then?” Howard nervously fingers the shades he’s still wearing.

“Yeah, they are. Well, not for my species, I just wear ’em because they’re good and dark, but they’ll enhance any human’s style and sex appeal. It’s just as well they aren’t powerfully magical and there weren’t hundreds of them. And so far nobody seems to have made the connection with this shop. Otherwise I’d be in big trouble with the Shaman Council and there’d be a serious mess to be cleared up.”

“Sorry, Naboo,” Howard says. “We didn’t think.”

“That much is obvious.”

“We did make you a profit, though,” Vince chimes in brightly. “Look.”

Naboo riffles through the wad of cash in the till drawer, and what they can see of his face brightens perceptibly.

“Seven hundred and twenty euros, not bad… Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes, Naboo.” Vince looks at the floor, and scuffs with the toe of his boot. “It won’t happen again.”

“Well… I’d say your sales performance today deserves a bonus, that’s more than you took in the whole of last week… call it a hundred and twenty… so we’re all square.” Naboo pockets the notes, and clunks the drawer shut again. “But next time I won’t be so reasonable. Might even have to turn my back on you. Vince, get out there and get the shutters closed.”

“Yes, boss.” Vince heads meekly for the door.

“Odd, really.” Naboo looks at Howard. “Seeing as you’re wearing the broken pair."

Howard raises a hand to feel the glasses. "They seem OK to me."

"Bollo dropped them last week, knocked the magic right out of them. But you didn’t know they were s’posed to be magical in the first place, so there can’t have been a placebo effect. An’ there was me thinking you were a shit salesman… Just shows, even I can be wrong sometimes. Make sure you lock up and turn the lights off…”

“Yes, Naboo. And… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. An’ I mean that.” Naboo wanders off upstairs.

Howard doesn’t mention it. Not even to Vince when he comes back in.

…

The potion’s effects are definitely fading. It’s been several hours since the last flash of peacock blue. Howard keeps the un-magical dark glasses on all evening, though, just in case Bollo or Naboo should happen to see anything he’d rather they didn’t… and not because Vince thinks he looks sexy in them. It pays to be practical and careful, that’s all.

And they do hide the worst of the crow’s feet around his eyes.

At bedtime (which they decided should be early tonight, since last night was somewhat disturbed) they join forces to put clean sheets on Howard’s bed, but when Howard picks up the second duvet cover and goes over to the other bed, Vince shakes his head.

“Don’t let’s bother with mine, yours is more comfy anyway… if that’s OK… I mean, I don’t wanna crowd you or anythin’, but… Howard… Howard?”

It takes a little while to reassure Vince that Howard’s speechlessness is not the result of shyness or disgust, but rather ecstatic happiness at the prospect of waking up with Vince every morning. Never mind the prospect of getting into bed with him every night.

Vince is in and out of the bathroom, undressed, and between the clean crisp sheets in minutes. It takes Howard a little longer to persuade himself to take his clothes off, _all_ his clothes, and then the glasses. Everything looks very bright, and he feels suddenly exposed. He screws his eyes up small, but when he clambers into bed Vince looks into them anyway, hopefully.

“It’s gone,” Howard says, knowing what Vince is looking for. “It was only supposed to last for twenty-four hours, and it’s done what it was supposed to do.”

Vince sighs. “That blue was such a brilliant colour, though… an’ it was genius, the connection, bein’ able to see what you were thinkin’.”

“You got all the bad bits too, remember. And we still have a connection. Don’t we?”

Vince brightens. “Yeah,” he says softly, putting a hand on Howard’s shoulder. “Yeah, we do.”

“And at least I won’t have to wear sunglasses to work tomorrow.”

“You might choose to wear them, though.”

“Depends who’s looking.” Howard pulls Vince to him for a kiss.

“Everybody’ll be looking. Magic glasses, remember? Hey, I wonder whether those two blondes have pulled a crowd yet.”

Howard kisses him again. “Actually, Vince, not magic glasses.”

“Eh?”

“The pair I borrowed are broken. Naboo told me. They’re just ordinary sunglasses.”

“But… what about all the sales and everythin’?”

“That was the magic of Vince Noir. It pains me to admit it, Vince, but you really do know how to accessorize. Maybe… if you didn’t mind… we could go shopping together sometime?”

Vince looks gobsmacked. “ _Clothes_ shopping?”

“Yeah. I mean… you created a good look for me today.”

“I did, didn’t I? Tell you what though, I like this one better.” Vince grins, and runs his hands over Howard’s bare chest.

“Not very practical for work, though, is it?”

Vince giggles. “S’pose not. Wouldn’t want anything getting caught in the till… Yeah, Howard, we can go shoppin’ whenever you want, I’d like that.”

“Any excuse, eh?”

“No… well, yeah, I love buyin’ clothes, but I meant… I’d really like it if we did it together, and… I’m dead chuffed that you’d take my advice, I don’t know much and most of it isn’t any use to you most of the time, but I do know about fashion an’ I do wanna make you look good, cos then you might feel good about yourself too, an’ I’m still sorry I said all that stuff about tweed an’ made you feel old…”

“Shush. Like Naboo said, yesterday was yesterday. And right now you’re not making me feel old at all.”

“Howard?” Vince looks up, his blue eyes wide and worried.

“What is it, Little Man?”

“This is… this is real, isn’t it?”

“Course it is.”

Vince chews on his bottom lip. “You’re not gonna change your mind?”

“Listen, you saw my mind. You know what’s in there. I promise you, that’s not going to change, even if you can’t see it any more. I –” Howard blushes, but makes himself go on. “I love you.”

“Cheers, Howard.” Vince hugs him tight. “I love you too.”

“You daft tit,” Howard says, hugging him back.

“Makes two of us. Ow, hang on a sec, your guitar’s sticking into me. Among other things.” Vince reaches behind Howard’s neck to unclasp the chain of the pendant. “Oo, it’s warm from bein’ right next to you. I want some of that warm, can you warm me up like that too?”

“I’m sure I can.” Howard pulls Vince into his arms, savouring the feel of all that bare skin, even though some of it is distinctly chilly. “You should wear more clothes, then you wouldn’t get so cold. It can’t be healthy.”

Vince wriggles on top of Howard, pressing as close as he can. “Maybe not, but it’s a great excuse to do this… an’ I don’t really wanna have to wear clothes at all, it’s much more fun being nude. We should move somewhere warmer. Like Xooberon. Naboo says it’s always hot there. An’ you look great in a loincloth.”

“Vince, I would do almost anything for you, but wearing a loincloth ever again isn’t one of them. I didn’t like the chains much, either. And it got pretty cold at night, shut out of the tents.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot you were a slave as well.” Vince nuzzles into Howard’s neck. “Hey, listen, let me make it up to you tonight, I’ll be all yours, do whatever you want.”

“Erm, well, that’s a sweet offer, but I – I don’t think I’m ready to play kinky games in the bedroom. That’s… going a bit too fast for me, little man.”

“Doesn’t have to be kinky, if you don’t want. What would you like? How about… a Number Five?”

“Don’t make fun.”

“I wasn’t, I was just tryin’ not to embarrass you by sayin’ ‘blowjob’. It’s a serious offer. An’ don’t tell me you wouldn’t like it. Cos I won’t believe you.” Vince rocks his hips gently against Howard’s. “Little Howard here is tellin’ me quite a different story.”

“Well… yes, I would like that. Very much. Thank you, Vince.”

“Don’t mention it.” Vince slides himself off Howard and trails light, dry, barely-there kisses all the way down into Howard’s groin. Howard pulls the duvet up over them both, so that Vince won’t be cold.

And also so that he can’t see Vince looking at him.

He still can’t quite believe that Vince – or indeed anybody – would want to look at him, not like that…

Vince’s hot, wet tongue licks teasingly along Howard’s prick; an exploring hand, warm now, strokes Howard’s thigh and carefully cups his balls.

Howard gives a sigh of contentment and arches his back, lifting his hips.

Vince’s fingers stroke the sensitive ridge of flesh behind Howard’s sac; then Vince’s face is down there too, Howard can feel warm breath where he’s never felt it before, and his balls are tightening, drawing up in self-defence.

And now Vince is lifting Howard’s thigh, laying him open, and Vince’s tongue is licking down into the cleft, and he’s going to…

“No. Stop. You can’t. That’s… I mean, no, don’t…”

Howard thrashes about in a panic. Vince stops, and strokes Howard’s belly and sides gently.

“What’s wrong?”

“You are. You’ve gone wrong, sir. You were about to lick my…”

Vince pokes his tousled head out from under the duvet. “ ’S’alright, Howard. I know it doesn’t sound very sexy, put like that. But don’t think about what I’m doing. Just think about how it feels.”

Howard heaves in a huge, shuddering breath.

“How did it feel?” Vince asks.

It’s an honest question; Vince really wants to know. Howard tries to set aside his gut reaction of ‘eeuwww’ and give an honest answer. “Well… it felt… good. But…”

“Just go with it, then, yeah? Let it turn you on, then you won’t mind. Trust me.”

“OK.”

“Good man. Can I try again?”

“Well… yes, I suppose so. If you’re sure that’s what you want, if you don’t mind, I mean I have washed and everything, and…”

“And it was the sexiest thing you’ve ever felt in your life. So far.” Vince gives Howard a dazzling smile, and dives back under the covers.

Vince’s tongue licking and probing at his ring is indeed, without a doubt, the sexiest thing that Howard has ever felt. He tries to take Vince’s advice and think about the feeling itself, rather than what’s causing it. Because although Howard’s clean and tidy mind is protesting in outrage, Howard’s body is loving this, absolutely loving it, it’s what he’s always wanted without knowing that he wanted it, and it’s driving him wild.

“Close,” he gasps. “Vince. Very close…”

Vince takes a firm grip around the base of Howard’s cock, holding back his release. Howard squirms in exquisite anguish. “I can’t take much more of this…”

Vince’s voice is muffled by the duvet. “I know, sweetheart, and I won’t make you. Just relax, let me…”

He lifts Howard’s thigh back a little further; invades his body with a tongue-tip.

Howard jerks away and cries out, a high wild sound he’s never heard before.

Vince lets go of him, and Howard feels warm, soft lips enfolding his aching hardness. A wet fingertip slides over his entrance and this time Howard doesn’t pull away but presses himself against it, so close now…

He lets himself open up, and the fingertip slips inside him.

With another wild cry, Howard is lost.

The aftershocks tear through him, Vince’s finger still inside him, his muscles clenching around it.

Vince crawls up to lie beside him, and slowly, carefully withdraws his hand.

Howard opens his eyes and sees Vince smiling. He wants to see Vince smile like that every day.

“I want to see you smile like that every day too, Howard,” Vince murmurs.

“And you will,” Howard says, stroking Vince’s hair, just because he can. “You will… Hey, hang on a minute, the potion’s supposed to have worn off. Are you still reading my mind?”

“Yeah. A bit, anyway.” Vince giggles. “Or maybe you’re just getting predictable in your old age.”

“Old age? Definitely not. But predictable... Well, sir, two can play at that game.”

Howard pushes Vince flat on his back, and reaches for the Nutella jar.


	9. roll away your stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo wonders what’ll happen when it comes to the crunch.

_it’s too quiet in here tonight_

_you’ve done everything that you can, and now you’re sitting on the bed just waiting_

_what happens next is not up to you any more_

_you hate not being in control, you resent your fate being in someone else’s hands, but right now the sharpest pain of all is missing bollo, like you imagine you’d miss a cut-off limb_

_bereft of your familiar, you have left yourself with nothing to keep the fear at bay, you’re stuck here like a rabbit in the middle of the road watching the lorry get closer_

_it’s always been this way, ever since the first time, the suffocating sense of doom that all your magic and all your drugs can’t lift off your shoulders_

_each time seems to come too soon, all the years between vanish into an instant of memory, and it feels as though you have always been here, waiting_

_and each time you wonder whether this will be the one you don’t pull through_

_this time it’s bad_

_you haven’t told anybody how bad_

_(not even bollo, though you suspect he probably knows)_

_it’s making your bones ache, your skin feels stretched too tight over them, your ribs starting to show_

_you haven’t been able to keep anything down for the past two days_

_not even pills_

_(bollo tried his best with dry toast and warm milk and you told him to tell the others it was just one of their crappy planet’s crappy viruses you’d picked up)_

_the air of this alien world has grown too thick, too hard to breathe_

_and it’s so cold_

_so cold_

_(sometimes you used to think that bollo’s fur was the only really warm thing on this planet)_

_shivering, you pull the blood-red bedcover around your shoulders_

_it makes no difference_

_(he didn’t want to go, but a shaman’s familiar must be obedient)_

_you look around the room for some comfort but there is none_

_all your bright textiles, sparkly beads and mirror-hangings can’t lighten up the darkness in your soul_

_the waiting is the hardest part_

_the waiting and the not-knowing and the consuming need for someone to reach out and touch you, take you, save you_

_so far someone always has, whether it’s with a pale shaft or a dark hand or a pink tentacle_

_not always what you’d choose, but beggars can’t be choosers and you know that when it comes to the crunch you will always beg_

_your message must have got through, you had a text reply yesterday_

– little1, about f*ing time –

_but he’ll come in his own time, not yours_

_you want him, need him so badly it hurts, but you never know what he might do to you_

_as long as he pulls you through, you don’t suppose it really matters_

_he wouldn’t actually let you die_

_(would he?)_

_you’ve never told him, in all these years… perhaps you should have gone to him while that crappy potion was still active, and let him see what you couldn’t say_

_but then you’d be laid bare to him in a way that you can’t even contemplate_

_you can’t afford to give him that advantage, not if you want to carry on being with him_

_admit it, you do want to_

_anyway, let’s face it, who else is there?_

_what options do you have?_

_loving him is the only thing that keeps you going_

_even though you’re pretty sure he’s never really liked you_

_you still trust that he’ll get here in time, that your promise of surrender will be incentive enough_

_so you sit on the bed, all alone, conserving your strength, just waiting_

_the need dragging at the space between your thighs, the silence pressing on your eardrums, your own too-slow heartbeat the only sound keeping your fear company_

_the other two have gone out tonight_

_the flat is very quiet without them_

_ballbags_

_you’ve been hearing them, all this week, you couldn’t help hearing, not just the laughter and the crimping and the endearments, but the muffled gasping in the shower, and the squeak of bedsprings and howard crying out vince’s name loud and clear despite you pulling your turban over your ears and sticking your head under the pillow_

_you did good work there_

_but a little selfish part of you is telling you that it was much easier not to hate them when they weren’t so fucking happy_

_or so happy fucking_

_how is that even possible?_

_you sigh as you finger the hair-thin, white scars on your wrists_

_it all seems so much simpler for humans_


	10. I'll Roll Away Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard and Vince come home from the pub, and interrupt something. But all is not what it seems.

“You’re sure you didn’t want another drink?”

Vince shakes his head as the pub doors creak shut behind them. “Nah, I’m fine, Howard. I’d much rather have an early night.”

Howard laughs, and wraps an arm round Vince’s waist, pulling him closer. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Never had such a good reason for wanting an early night, did I?” They turn the corner of the street, and Vince stumbles accidentally-on-purpose on his high heels, wanting an excuse to lean on Howard a bit more, to feel that strong arm holding him up, keeping him safe.

“So it’s cocoa and biscuits tonight, is it?” Howard teases, planting an affectionate kiss on the top of Vince’s head. “And then lights out?”

“Well, that sounds tempting, but do you think we might add another item to that list? Say… cocoa and biscuits and a Number Six, and _then_ lights out?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“I do good plans for bedtimes.” Vince squeezes Howard tight. “And anyway, why d’you think I didn’t have any more to drink? Wouldn’t want to let you down.”

“Vince, you never let me down. And your bedtime plans are the best.”

Howard’s voice is warm and happy and only slightly slurred from the beers he’s had. And he sounds as though he really, really means every word.

Vince is beginning to believe that he really, really does.

It’s only been a week or so since Howard shyly asked, with the lights out and his face buried in Vince’s shoulder, whether they could ‘try a Number Six’.

Vince thought his heart would come right out of his chest, it was thumping so hard, but he’d managed to whisper ‘yes’ and they’d not only tried, they’d succeeded – eventually – beyond anything he could have expected or imagined.

They both made an important discovery about Howard that night.

The big man just loves to be fucked.

Perhaps, after letting Vince into his mind, letting him into his body wasn’t such a big deal in the end.

Vince loves watching him while they have sex, the way he sweats and pants and pleads and gazes at Vince’s face as though it’s the only thing he ever wants to see, ever again… the way he unravels completely, not holding anything back, letting Vince see the effect he’s having.

Howard makes Vince feel… special. While totally accepting that he’s just himself, just ordinary. Vince has no idea how Howard is doing that. Nobody else has ever been able to do it. But then, Howard knows him better than anybody else ever has…

“Vince?”

“Mmm?”

Howard chucks him under the chin. “Heyyy, you were miles away there, Little Man. I said, do you think Naboo’s OK?”

Vince sighs. “No, not really. He’s been getting quieter and quieter all week. Like there’s less and less of him. An’ all that stuff Bollo said before he left this morning, about a virus… Bullshit. Naboo never gets sick, he’s magically immune to Earth diseases. He told us that years ago.”

“He did say magic takes it out of him,” Howard says thoughtfully, half to himself.

“When you were… when he gave you the truth potion?”

“Mmm. He also said it was a bad time for him, he seems to hit a low every half-century or so from what I could gather. Dropped some vague hint about someone being unkind to him. But he didn’t really want to talk about it. And I had other things on my mind at the time.”

Vince sneaks a hand down to grope Howard’s arse, warm and inviting and corduroy-covered. “So you did.”

“And remember what Bollo said?”

“When we were sorting the laundry, you mean? About Naboo having a bad feeling?”

Howard nods. “It’s weird. Whether he’s suffering from a bad feeling or a bad curry, he needs Bollo to look after him. So why’s he sent him away?”

They round the corner into their own street. Vince frowns, and tries to think. “He said the Head Shaman needed him, and he couldn’t ignore the request. But was that just more bullshit?”

“Dunno.” Howard rummages in his pocket for his door key. “I mean, it was a plausible story, Dennis is a bit…”

“Hopeless. And that white rabbit of his…Blimey. She makes Bollo look like a top-of-the-range model, and that’s sayin’ something.”

Vince grins. Seeing as Dennis’s familiar is the sweetest, fluffiest, most brainless creature imaginable, it’s not surprising that Bollo’s been called in to help evict a bunch of ten-foot, luminous, illegal aliens from the sacred caves of the Great Tangerine Desert of Xooberon.

Although the timing is suspicious…

“What’s that?” Howard stops in the hallway, and Vince bumps into him.

“What’s what?”

“Listen.”

There is the muffled slam of a door somewhere in the flat upstairs, and sounds of a struggle.

“Burglars?” Vince whispers.

Howard shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Making too much noise.”

They look at each other and say “Naboo,” in the same instant; then they are racing up the stairs, through the lounge, down the passageway.

Naboo’s bedroom door is shut. Howard has raised his hand to knock when they hear a deep, angry voice behind it.

“That sounds bad,” Vince whispers. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Maybe Naboo’s in trouble with the shaman council. Perhaps they found out about the sunglasses.”

“It sounds more serious than that.”

They can’t hear the words, but the threat in them is all too clear, and when Naboo replies he sounds all wobbly and tearful.

Then there is a sharp slap, and a whimper of distress.

Howard is frowning. “We should go in there, he’s not strong enough for this, not at the moment.”

But there is something in the tone of the voices behind that door…

“Leave them to it,” Vince says. “We’ll only make it worse if we interfere, it’s just a domestic, none of our business.”

“A _domestic_?” Howard’s face contorts with shock and disbelief. “You mean those two are a…”

“A couple, yeah.” Vince is certain of it; as a child, he had to sit through too many evenings of his parents’ battles to be mistaken now. “Like you an’ me. ’Cept we don’t get off on arguments an’ hittin’ each other. But some people do… an’ they’re from another planet, for all we know we’re just hearin’ the alien equivalent of buyin’ each other flowers or somethin’. C’mon Howard, trust me on this one, OK? Nothin’ we can do.”

He takes Howard’s arm to lead him back to the kitchen; there is another cry of pain from behind the door.

Howard drags himself free, his face set and resolute. “I’m going in there.”

“Howard, read my lips, alien domestic,” Vince says desperately, “alien _shaman_ domestic, not our business, bad idea, Howard…”

But Naboo cries out a third time, and Howard flings himself at the door.

It’s not locked, so he falls straight through it and lands in a heap on the rug.

“Oh look, your knight in shining armour is here to rescue you,” a deep voice sneers.

This looks bad. Really, really bad.

Vince’s instincts (not to mention his brain cell) are screaming at him to run; but he makes himself go into the room, to stand by Howard. Well, a little bit behind him, actually, but still…

Howard is scrambling awkwardly to his feet. “Leave him alone.”

“But he doesn’t _want_ me to leave him alone. Do you, little one?”

Naboo is face-down on the bed, naked, looking even smaller and more fragile than usual; and standing over him is Saboo, feathered hat rakishly askew, an unsheathed sword in his hand.

“Answer me!” Saboo thunders.

Naboo gives a barely audible whimper. There are several straight, red, angry-looking weals across his neat little arse. Saboo raises his weapon and prepares to add another.

“Don’t hurt him.” Howard’s face turns white.

“Oh, you really don’t get it, do you, you primitive peabrain? He _summoned_ me here for this.” Saboo licks his lips and lowers the blade, drawing its tip lovingly across the pale skin of Naboo’s exposed shoulders. It leaves a thin line beaded with blood.

Vince presses close to Howard, feeling suddenly sick.

Howard’s chin is stubbornly raised, even though Vince can feel him trembling. “I don’t believe you. Do that again and I’ll come at you like...”

“Like what? Like a soggy pancake? Ooohh, I’m scared. NOT. Now piss off.”

“But you can’t just – ”

“I think you’ll find I can, actually.” Saboo flourishes the sword through the air and smacks the flat of it down, hard; observes the resulting stripe across Naboo’s thighs with dispassionate interest.

Naboo quivers as the blow falls, but he makes no sound.

Howard swallows, and steps forward. Vince is moved by the big man’s bravery, even as he is gobsmacked by his idiocy in putting himself within reach of that blade.

“That’s enough,” Howard says, trying to keep his voice under control as Saboo glares at him. “Can’t you see he’s sick? He’s not strong enough for punishment or – or whatever perverted game you’re playing here. Leave him alone!”

The tiny figure on the bed stirs, and says faintly: “G’way Howard, you don’t understand.”

Saboo’s lip curls.

“Hah. Understatement of the week from our learned friend here. Honestly, Naboo, you should choose your associates more carefully. Ones with actual functioning brains would be good.”

“They’re my f-friends,” Naboo protests.

“They’re a couple of ballbags. Your words, not mine. And they know nothing of the crunch. _Nothing_. But, you know what…” An evil smile crosses Saboo’s dark face. “I think it’s time they learned. And I think it’s time _you_ learned… to appreciate what I do for you.” The sword whistles through the air as he raises it again.

“No,” Naboo cries out. Howard’s face screws up and his mouth opens and shuts, but his voice seems to have stopped working. Vince can only manage a sort of strangled squeak as he forces his legs to move, stumbling forward to stand beside Howard, with the vague thought that perhaps Saboo’s aim will be confused by having multiple targets. Or something.

Saboo gives a nasty laugh.

“ _God_ , you lot are pathetic. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. Any of you.” He lowers his weapon, almost casually. “Since it seems that when it comes to the crunch, I’m surplus to requirements.”

Howard glares at him. “You certainly are, sir.”

“Shut up, Howard, he’s a shamanic nutjob an’ he’s _armed_ , don’t make him angry, for fucksake…” Vince hisses.

Naboo’s thin shoulders shake with a sob.

Saboo looks disdainful as he slides his sword into its sheath. “I must say, little one, I’m disappointed in you. Extremely disappointed… Very well, since your – friends – insist, I’ll be going now. I wouldn’t want to cause any… unpleasantness.”

“No…” Naboo whispers, and stretches out a hand, but Saboo ignores him.

“Good night, gentlemen.” He takes off his hat to Vince and Howard, with a mocking bow. “Congratulations on your evening’s work. I’m sure you will be very proud in years to come.”

Vince’s heart sinks into his glittery boots as the shaman turns on his heel and strides out of the room. Something is wrong about all of this, terribly wrong, only he can’t quite put his finger on what. It’s like trying to read a message reflected in a mirrorball, all in bits and backwards…

Howard is all fired up now that the threat has receded to a safe distance. He goes to the door, brandishing his fists, and shouts down the stairs after Saboo. “Oh, you want some? You want a bit of the Monsoon, huh?”

“Howard,” Vince says urgently, “ _Howard_ , shut up, it’s not what you think...”

“No, it fucking well isn’t,” a hoarse voice lisps from behind them.

Naboo is scrambling painfully off the bed; he staggers across the room and opens the window. “Saboo!” he yells into the night, over and over again, but there is no reply.

He turns on Vince and Howard in a fury. “Why the _fuck_ couldn’t you two just stay in the pub? Now you’ve ruined everything, you complete arseholes, I waited alone all day and now he’s gone and I’m alone again and I’m going to die.”

“Come off it, Naboo,” Howard says. “You’re better off without him if that’s how he treats you.”

Naboo is shaking from head to foot, his eyes dark with despair. “You tit, you still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what? It’s not as though you’re going to die of a broken heart.”

“Not exactly a broken heart, but…” The little shaman leans against the windowsill, looking forlorn and utterly exhausted; a tear trickles down his pale cheek. “I really am going to die. In about four hours’ time.”


	11. Together We Will See What We Can Find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo does some explaining. Howard has an idea. And Vince has a better one.

Vince has never seen Naboo like this.

Actually crying, actually scared, and actually about to lose it.

Naboo’s always been the strong one; always there to put things magically right when Vince and Howard have gone wrong. But now, he seems to have lost all the stuff that normally keeps him going.

No drugs, no magic, no familiar, no partner and no hope… that doesn’t leave very much, when you come to think of it. Just a small, lonely person on a hostile alien planet.

Facing the end with nothing but a couple of humans who don’t have a clue how to help him.

A chilly draught blows through the open window. Naboo is shivering; he’s got no robes, either… Vince grabs a brightly coloured throw off the nearest chair and wraps it round his thin, naked body.

“What was that all about? Naboolio, what’s happenin’? Talk to me.” Vince pulls the window shut again and puts a hand on Naboo’s shoulder.

The little shaman shakes his head wordlessly and throws his arms around Vince, hanging on tight, just like he did in the kitchen that night they were making pancakes. He’d been trying to tell him something then, too, Vince realises; or maybe trying not to tell him. Either way, Vince hadn’t quite got the message beyond some vague feeling that Naboo needed extra syrup and rainbow sprinkles.

He pats Naboo awkwardly on the back. “Hey, come on. It’s gonna be all right.”

“I don’t think so, actually. Not this time.” Naboo’s voice is just a wobbly whisper.

Vince’s heart sinks so far, it’s probably gone through the floor and into the shop downstairs. “But there must be _something_ –”

Naboo takes a deep breath and lets go of Vince, managing somehow to compose himself, though the tears are still rolling down his cheeks.

“First things first Vince, just shut up and listen, this is important and we don’t have much time. My will’s in the desk, I’ve left you two the shop, get Dennis to sort out the magical stuff in the cupboard and dispose of it. There’s a couple of labelled boxes in there, make sure you deliver them. I wanna be buried in the desert back home on Xooberon. Oh, and Bollo’ll be gutted, take care of him, make sure he goes to a good home.” His voice wavers and cracks. “He didn’t want me to send him away...”

“He knew something was wrong.” Vince puts his arm around Naboo, holding him up.

“I know, but I didn’t want him to see me come to the crunch, an’ now… I wish he was here, but I’m glad he’s not, if that makes sense.”

It doesn’t, really. Vince glances round for Howard – the big man is better at figuring out puzzles – but he is sitting on the bed, completely white and silent, just staring at the floor and shaking.

Vince looks back at Naboo. “What can we do?”

“Stay with me?” There is a pleading lift in Naboo’s voice.

“Course.” Vince helps him to sit down on the bed, next to the stunned Howard. “What’s gonna happen to you? Will it hurt?”

“Dunno, I haven’t actually died before. I think it’s just like the battery runnin’ down, you know? Anyway, there’s plenty of drugs lyin’ about the place. There’s bound to be something you can knock me out with if you need to.”

“I’m sorry,” Howard whispers, still looking at the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

Vince grabs him by the shoulder and shakes him. “You can be sorry later. Right now we need to help Naboo, yeah?”

Howard swallows and nods; he looks up at Vince as though waiting for instructions.

“Right, well, he’s freezing for a start, can you go and get the fan heater from the lounge? I’ll put the fire on in here as well.”

In spite of the extra heating and the blankets Vince has wrapped round him, Naboo still shivers. The tremors wrack his body, and his breathing is laboured and shallow.

Vince puts an arm round him, careful to avoid the sword-cut, and beckons Howard to sit the other side of him and do the same. “D’you want to get in bed? You’d be warmer.”

Naboo shakes his head. “Don’t wanna lie down until I have to. It’d feel too much like giving up.”

“You really think you’re gonna die?” Vince can’t believe it; doesn’t want to believe it.

But the little shaman’s face is grave. “ ’Fraid so. The crunch is real, and now I’ve come to it.”

There’s a lump in Vince’s throat. “Don’t say that.”

“Well, what d’you want me to say? I feel like I should be givin’ you partin’ words of shamanic wisdom or something. But I can’t think of anything.”

“You could explain what’s happening,” Vince says. “That might help. I mean, we know you’re not human, and you’re hundreds of years old, but… what exactly are you, if that isn’t a rude question?”

“It is a rude question, actually. But that doesn’t matter now. I don’t have the energy left to be angry with you… either of you. You were only trying to help.”

Naboo lays his head wearily on Howard’s shoulder; Howard relaxes slightly, although he still says nothing.

“My secret…” Naboo hesitates; starts again. “What exactly I am, is… well… I’m an unmale.”

“A what?”

“Humans have two sexes, right? Well, Xooberonians have three. Male, female and unmale.”

“And the unmale ones are blokes, but they don’t have any bits.”

“Human language is so primitive. Specially yours, Vince. But yeah, that’s basically it. There aren’t many of us, an’ we’re always stunted, but we’re also highly magically gifted.”

“That’s why you get visions and stuff.”

“And why I’m on the Board of Shamen even though I’m still so young.”

“Cool.”

“Not entirely. A lot of unmales don’t live very long.”

“Because of this… crunch thing that’s happenin’ to you?”

“Not just that. Unmales are often driven insane by their hypersensitive shaman senses. Why d’you think I’m stoned most of the time? It takes the edge off. Otherwise… imagine you had no skin on your body, and every tiny touch hurt like fuck, well, imagine your mind was the same. Overloaded by every thought, every sensation…”

“I’d never thought of it like that.”

“You’d never – ” Naboo checks himself. “Never mind. Some don’t survive the crunch, and some choose to give up when it comes to it. Or sometimes before – we have the option to just shut down our own life force and fade away, if it all gets too much.”

“So what’s this crunch thing all about, then? It sounds well serious.”

“It’s a bit… personal.”

“You don’t have to tell us, if you don’t want.”

Naboo sighs. “I do want. I’ve always tried not to tell you stuff, ’s a bad idea to mix personal with professional, but if I’d told you about this before it happened, then you’d have known what was happenin’ and I wouldn’t be in this mess, would I?”

“Knowin’ us, you’d probably just be in a different one.” Vince reaches for Naboo’s cold hand, and holds on.

“Yeah, maybe. I’m not very good at… you know, friends an’ all that. Easier to keep everyone at arm’s length, then they can’t hurt you. An’ I know this is too little and too late, but it might help you to deal with me bein’ dead, if you understood.”

Vince can feel himself welling up at the matter-of-fact way Naboo says this. He’s actually serious. He actually believes he’s going to die in a couple of hours. And he’s making Vince believe it too.

“You can cut that out, for a start,” Naboo says, with a glint of his old, sardonic self. “Plenty of time later, like you told Howard. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start cryin' over me until I’ve actually gone. It’ll set me off too, an’ then I’ll never get to the point.”

“OK.” Vince wipes his eyes on a corner of the blanket. “So what is your point?”

“All Xooberonians have… a cycle. A cycle of the life force.”

“Like girly times-of-the-month, you mean?”

“Kind of. Our life energy hits a low point about every fifty years, and then recovers. If you’re unmale, the low is much lower… well, look at me. I’m a wreck. Can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t even get high. And it’s almost always fatal unless we can find someone to save us from it.”

“With magic?”

“No. With sex.”

Vince blinks in surprise. “But I thought you weren’t… you didn’t…”

“Just because I don’t have ‘bits’ doesn’t mean I don’t have sex. I do. Just not as often as you. Or as loudly.”

“But Dennis told me after Howard’s party –”

“Dennis hasn’t been in charge very long, and I’d kept a low profile on the Board before that. He’d just never worked out what I was. An’ I’ve let him go on thinking that I don’t do anything except when I _have_ to – when it comes to the crunch. Can’t afford to have him findin’ out…”

He falls silent for a little while, lost in thought, his breathing barely audible over the hum of the fan heater and the distant rumble of traffic in the high street.

Vince squeezes his hand. “Naboolio?”

“Sorry, drifted off there, where was I?”

“You were explainin’ about the crunch,” Vince tells him gently.

“Oh yeah… I’ve been lucky so far, survived longer than a lot of us do. This’ll be my eighth. Dennis’s predecessor took the first one, traditional head shaman’s perk, and not long before the second one I met Saboo” – he winces as he says the name – “and we started… well, something. We’ve bin together just over three hundred years. Apart from one time I don’t wanna talk about, when it’s come to the crunch it’s always been Saboo I’ve turned to. And sometimes in between.”

“Why?” Vince wonders whether that was a rude question too.

“I love him.”

It sounds very simple, and very sincere, but Vince can’t forget the scene they walked in on, the anger, the weapon, the blood… “But he hurt you.”

“Yeah, he did. He does. Vince, I – I know what it looks like, but it’s _not_ what it looks like. He gets off on it… an’ I get off on him getting' off on it. ’S just how it works for us.” Naboo lowers his head, looks at the floor. “I don’t expect you to understand. You two’re lucky.”

“We know,” Vince says softly. He hears Howard catch his breath.

Naboo sighs. “You caught us on a bad night. When it’s good, it’s really, really good. An’ when it’s not…”

“You stick with it because you hope the next time will be.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Vince’s heart is torn by the raw longing in the little shaman’s husky voice. He strokes Naboo’s hair. “Will he come back this time?”

Naboo shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. He’ll leave it to the last minute even if he does, he likes to see me beg, he wants to have my life in his hands. It’s like the ultimate power game. An’ I… well, I play along, I trust him, he's never let me down when it's really mattered. ’Cept this time...” Naboo draws a harsh breath. “This time I’m really scared he’ll be too late, this was always gonna be a bad one an’ he doesn’t know how much energy I’ve used up recently, what with that windows potion an’ all.”

A horrible pang of guilt sweeps through Vince: the potion was because of him and his stupid selfishness, and he’s been so happy since, it never occurred to him to think that there might have been a serious cost to Naboo in working the magic in the first place.

“Isn’t there anyone else? Can we, I dunno, call somebody on the Board? Are any of the others on Earth at the moment? What about –”

“I’m not going to Tony Harrison,” Naboo says, with finality. “Been there, done that once, not gonna do it again. And Kirk’s body’s underage, an’ Dennis can’t get it up most of the time and anyway as soon as he gets a sniff of alcohol he can’t keep a secret…”

Howard stirs, and clears his throat. “Does it have to be a shaman?”

“Well, no, s’pose not, technically, but who else is there? You aren’t exactly in sexual demand when you’re a midget alien drug dealer with no genitals.”

“What about one of us?”

There is a short silence while all three of them digest what Howard’s just said.

Then a small hoarse voice says: “You comin’ on to me, Howard Moon?”

“Well, sir, given the circumstances, I suppose I am, yes.”

Naboo sits up, and gives Howard just the hint of a smile. “Your chat-up technique’s still rubbish.”

“Is that a yes, sir?”

“Well, as you say, given the circumstances…”

Howard looks across to Vince. “You OK with that, little man?”

Vince was about to be jealous, watching Naboo nestling into Howard’s shoulder and the two of them looking at each other with complete understanding, the way they were looking when he found them together on the sofa… and the thought of Howard’s first time on top being with someone else…

But this isn’t just anybody else, he thinks. It’s Naboo. If there is any hope of saving him, no matter how small and unlikely, then that’s way more important than how Vince might feel about it. Anyway, it’s his and Howard’s fault Naboo is in this mess, and he’s lost count of how many times Naboo’s saved their arses in the past.

And even without all that, they would still owe Naboo big-time for Vince and Howard being together at all, for the fact that Vince now has so much lovin’ in his own life that he can afford to be generous with it. In fact…

“Vince?” Howard asks, biting his lip and looking worried.

Vince reaches for Howard’s hand, and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“Howard, you’re a genius, an’ I love you. But I’ve got an even better idea.”


	12. don't leave me alone at this time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo has an important decision to make. Vince and Howard make it for him.

_\- well, i suppose you do have more experience, vince -_

_you can see in howard’s face that he’s not sure whether to be resentful or relieved that vince wants to take the responsibility from him_

_\- no, howard, I didn’t mean… vince’s blue eyes are wide and bright and hurt as he struggles to express himself, words are hard for him sometimes - that’s not it, I’m not tryin’ to take anythin’ away from you, I’m tryin’ to add something_

_\- i can do this, howard protests - i want to_

_you try to intervene - listen, i do appreciate it, but i don’t want to come between you_

_vince laughs out loud - actually, i think that’s exactly what should happen, cos what I’m trying to add to this is… me_

_howard frowns at the laughter, then he realises what vince has said, and looks stunned, and also a bit intrigued - you mean…_

_\- a threeway, yeah_

_\- wouldn’t it be weird? - you are a bit intrigued too to be honest_

_but also to be honester, a bit worried_

_(the only time you ever tried a threeway you ended up scarred for life and not only on your skin_

_you made the mistake of arguing, and it was two to one_

_\- allow me to demonstrate, little one, the difference between being restrained for the purposes of pleasure, and being restrained for the purposes of punishment, i don’t think you really understand the difference and I would very much like you to understand it_

_\- ’ere, i got summink you can use for that, it’s outraaageously expensive but it’s indestructible, you only need to buy it once_

_the thin wire tied round your crossed wrists didn’t look much, but the more you struggled, the hotter it got, until the ends had welded themselves seamlessly together and the marks were burned into you beyond all your magical ability to heal_

_you submitted in the end, wailing in pain and utterly broken, and you never heard the word they used to get it off you_

_worth it though, to see the lust in those dark eyes as your surrender was accepted, to feel that big, needy hardness pressed against you as he pulled you to your feet and held you close_

_and as he stroked and soothed you and found you something to numb the hurt, you knew that what bound you to him was just as indestructible as the wire, and you were about to tell him_

_but then a tentacle crawled up inside your robes and it was all downhill from then on)_

_vince is biting his lip, like he does when he’s thinking hard - you know what, I think it’d be weirder if you an’ howard went to bed, an’ i was the spare prick at the wedding, but if we do this together… i mean, we both love you, we both want to help, an’ whoever ends up getting’ you off, it’d be dead sexy for the other one, watchin’… maybe helpin’ a bit, you know?_

_well… - you can hear howard trying not to sound too keen, but you can tell he really likes the thought of watching vince, or vince watching him, making out with you - that might work, and i’d be happy to give it a try, but it’s up to naboo really_

_and now they are both looking at you and you’re struggling to stay with them_

_the ache inside you is swallowing you up, drawing you in, like the black hole at the centre of the galaxy, you find it hard to feel anything, even to speak, you keep tuning out for a few moments and all there is on the other side is… no, not darkness, just nothing, which is far more scary_

_you don’t want to go there yet_

_the warmth of howard’s hand on your cheek brings you back for the moment_

_\- naboolio?_

_your voice comes from a long way off - so if there’s two of you, how do i decide?_

_\- you don’t have to, we’ll decide for you - howard says - and we’ll decide vince, not being funny, but he’s… not as big as me and I’m guessing you’re… you know… small, in proportion_

_vince smiles - an’ if we find I don’t touch the sides, we’ll have a re-think, yeah?_

_you have never seen the two of them like this_

_in tune, in charge, working together, focused on something that for once isn’t either of themselves, but you_

_you are lucky, and he is wrong, humans do know something when it comes to the crunch_

_\- ok by me - you shrug, trying to keep your cool - worth a try, an’ at least it means I might die happy, not on my own… just one thing though_

_\- anything, vince says_

_\- not in this bed, too many memories here_

_(there is a reason you choose to sleep in dark red sheets_

_you have taken care never to give him cause to use the wire again, but there are plenty of other ways to draw blood without leaving a lasting scar_

_the sword-point is always cold, tracing lines gently across your skin, owning you_

_you long for the moment when he will give in and increase the pressure, break through to the inside of you, the searing flash of light behind your eyelids and the blissful release of tension as the warmth flows out across your surface, marking you as his territory_

_making him pity you, comfort you, want you_

_and if this is all he ever needs you for, well, at least it means he needs you_

_so far it’s always brought him back_

_but this time you know he’ll be too late, and you can’t bear the thought of how it would feel to die in that bed, still waiting)_

_howard picks you up - blimey, i thought vince was thin but there’s nothing left of you, naboo… don’t worry, we’ll take care of you_

_oh, so good to feel those strong arms comforting you… you bury your face in his shoulder as he carries you out_

_it won’t work, you know it won’t_

_but at least you won’t be alone_

_they’ll feel better if they’ve been allowed to try_

_and let’s face it, what have you got left to lose now?_


	13. For I'm Afraid of What I Will Discover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince's plan doesn't quite go according to plan.

Vince and the fan heater are both purring along comfortingly, but Howard is worried.

 

The small body lying alongside his own is so quiet, and so cold…

Naboo isn’t even shivering any more; he doesn’t seem to be producing any heat of his own. His breathing is uneven and shallow, and when Howard puts a hand on his skinny ribcage, there is barely a pulse to be felt. He’s like a seabird stranded after a storm: a fragile scrap of life that may never fly again.

They have done their best with the sword-cut on his back. (Well, Howard has done his best, since Vince went all wobbly at the sight of the blood and had to go and sit on his own bed with his head between his knees.) Thankfully it was very clean and very shallow – the work of an expert, Howard thought with a shudder – and now it’s pretty much invisible. The weals across Naboo’s buttocks and thighs, though, are still standing out starkly against his white skin in the light of the bedside lamp.

Howard breathes in the sharp tang of antiseptic cream, and wonders how proud Saboo is of his evening’s work. Bastard.

Somehow all three of them have just about managed to fit into Howard’s bed: Howard against the wall, Vince on the outside, and Naboo lying prone and silent between them.

Vince is being very careful as he strokes Naboo’s back and sides, snuggling up to him, smoothing his hair where it’s rumpled over the pillow, and keeping up a constant flow of chatter as he begins to explore more personal territory.

“Jus’ lemme know if anythin’ hurts, all right? Or if you want me to stop, or do somethin’ different… it’s your call. I know this is a bit new, it is for me too, we can do this together, an’ it’s gonna be fine, it feels good… how about there, is that good too? Mmmm?”

Naboo whimpers faintly, and arches his back.

Howard slides a hand under Naboo’s tumbled hair, and strokes him behind his ear; Naboo turns his head, so he’s facing Howard, his breath tickling Howard’s cheek.

“You OK, Naboo?” Howard asks softly.

Naboo’s eyes open: they are dark with fear. “Bit scared,” he whispers.

“Vince,” Howard says, and Vince stops what he’s doing and crawls up to lie along Naboo’s other side again.

“What’s wrong?”

Naboo bites his lip, holding back tears. “ ’M sorry. Not you. It’s me. I can’t…”

Howard is struck by sudden understanding. “You can’t see. Is that it?”

The tears spill out, along with the shaky words. “Sometimes… blindfold… hate it… not knowing what’s coming next… sorry…”

“Hey.” Vince leans right over, so he’s looking into Naboo’s face. “It’s all right. We understand. An’ it’s easily fixed.” He plants a friendly kiss on Naboo’s cheek. “I know you’re a bit sore, an’ I’m sorry about that, but we need to turn you rightways up, so you can see it’s just me. Come on now, sweetheart, roll over for me, that’s right… easy now…”

Howard feels a rush of love as he watches Vince soothing Naboo and making him comfortable again, being so gentle and considerate, not at all like his self-centred public persona. It’s a side of the little man that few people are privileged to see; Howard recalls his own first time and how patient Vince had to be with him when he froze in apprehension. He knows how it feels: waiting for the next touch, longing and dreading at the same time, not knowing what to expect.

He also knows that Naboo has nothing to be afraid of.

“Open your eyes,” Vince is telling Naboo. “Listen, you’re about to be bummed silly by Vince Noir, that doesn’t happen to many people an’ you don’t wanna miss a second of it.”

“You really don’t,” Howard murmurs. “It’s a privilege to watch Vince in action. Poetry in motion, that’s what he is, yes sir.”

Naboo forces his eyes open, and looks up at Vince; then he relaxes, just a little, but at least it’s a start.

“Oh,” Vince says, running a hand down Naboo’s hollowed stomach, following the trail of dark hair that stops abruptly on a level with his sharp hipbones. “Oh, but you’re beautiful. Can I – can I touch this?”

His hand is hovering over the smooth pale mound where the shaman’s ‘bits’ should be. Naboo nods, and presses against Vince’s touch, the skin flushing slightly at the contact.

Vince slides his hand on down. “Tell me if I’m goin’ too far too fast.”

“We don’t have much time to waste. It’s fine, Vince, feels good.” Naboo’s voice is a hoarse whisper.

Vince wriggles down the bed and props himself on one elbow, looking. He moves his hand again, doing something out of Howard’s sight, but that draws a sharp gasp from Naboo. Vince smiles. “An’ _that’s_ beautiful too. It’s a bit… further forward than ours… should make it easier this way up… erm, is there just the one?”

“Just the one, yeah.” A faint blush colours Naboo’s cheek.

“Like birds,” Howard says, fascinated by the sight of Vince’s fingers disappearing between Naboo’s thighs.

“Like silk,” Vince murmurs.

“Howard… you could touch me too, maybe?”

Howard looks at Naboo in surprise. “Of course, if you’d like.”

“I’d like. You’re so warm. I can’t get enough warm. An’ I need…”

“Kindness,” Howard says, and strokes the contours of Naboo’s face, then leans over and kisses him, gently, like last time.

“Hey,” Vince teases, “leave some for me.”

He pushes Howard away and kisses Naboo too; Howard can’t conceal the fact that he finds it very… erotic. Vince glances down at Little Howard and grins.

Then Vince kisses Howard and their eyes meet.

There’s the tiniest flash of peacock blue, the legacy of the truth potion, which flickers across both their minds at these rare moments of perfect understanding…

“When you two have quite finished,” Naboo whispers, “I’m tryin’ to get off before I die, remember?”

Vince moves his hand slowly, in and out. “I hadn’t forgotten. I’m multitasking. Howard, can you reach the lube in the drawer?”

“No need.” Naboo blushes a deeper pink. “Just give us a couple of minutes.”

“Always thought you were a self-sufficient character,” Vince says, stroking him some more. “Blimey, I see what you mean. Now that’s what I call a useful trick. Does that mean…”

“You’re turnin’ me on? Well, I wasn’t expecting it to be so quick, but yes, you are. ’S nice.”

“And it’s mutual,” Howard murmurs, seeing Vince hard and leaking, feeling his own cock pulse at the sight.

“Can I ask a personal question?” Vince is biting his lip. “You gotta sweet spot in here somewhere?”

The corner of Naboo’s mouth quirks. “Three.”

“No kidding? Howard, you an’ I were born on the wrong planet. Gimme some directions, Naboolio, I’m flyin’ blind here.”

“You’re very close to – _oh_.”

“Well, that’s one, tell me if that’s too much, it all feels a bit… delicate.”

“ ’S fine, I can take it, there’s a smaller one a bit further in and the third one’s off to the left… no, my left… _oh_ … there…”

Naboo’s voice rises to a squeak. He is gripping Howard’s hand so hard his fingers are hurting.

Vince slips in a third finger, twisting and stretching. “Oh, that’s lovely. Best of both worlds, I’d say.” He takes his hand away, drawing a protesting whine from Naboo; rubs his sticky, glistening fingers over his erection.

He grins wickedly as he sees Howard watching. “Wanna share? Yeah, course you do.”

The wet fingers trace the outline of Howard’s mouth; one fingertip slips inside, and Howard licks at it, curious. He can’t describe the taste, yet somehow he knew it would be exactly this…

Vince palms Naboo’s cheek; looks into his eyes. “Are you ready?”

Naboo nods. “If you’re sure…”

“Course I’m sure.”

“We both are,” Howard says, to both of them.

“Thank you… now please, I’ve never needed it so bad, _please_ …” Naboo chokes on a sob.

“Ssshhh.” Vince soothes him; lifts his knees up and back, opening him.

Naboo is keening now, slow tears spilling from under his closed eyelids.

Vince licks his hand and slicks himself, as he always does before taking Howard, however well-lubed he may already be… reassuring himself, making sure he’s ready…

Naboo cries out as Vince enters him, and Howard hears himself make a small needy sound too. He can’t help it: the sight of Vince all hot and hard and being so careful, so caring – it breaks something in Howard, breaks him every time.

Vince presses in slowly, murmuring comforting nonsense; Naboo shudders and moans and tilts his head back, rolling it from side to side on the pillow.

“You OK?” Howard pushes the hair back from Naboo’s damp temples.

“Yeah. Never better. Never – _oh_.”

The grip on Howard’s fingers tightens still further. Vince is smiling as he rocks his hips, the dark fuzz on his belly now right up against the flushed skin of that smooth, alien mound. “That’s good, mmm? For me too, yeah.” He glances down, and his grin broadens. “An’ for Howard. See, I told you it’d be dead sexy, watchin’.”

Howard blushes, and tries to move his aching erection away, but there isn’t room; his back is pressed against the wall as it is. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“I don’t mind.” Naboo pulls Howard closer, desperate for contact.

“Ohh, that’s tight.” Vince’s eyes widen. “Blimey, you’ve got some muscles in there…”

Howard watches as they move together, setting a slow and steady pace, rubbing against him too with every rise and fall of their joined hips. Such a beautiful feeling: as though he’s making love to them both. He had no idea it could be like this. And surely this is what Naboo needs; already his chilled skin is warmer, his breathing easier and deeper. They can do this. They will do this. They’re a team…

“Ah.” Vince sounds suddenly unsure. “Naboo, mate, back off, give us a breather for a sec.”

Knowing the signs, Howard whispers urgently in Naboo’s ear. “Stop, you’ll have to stop, he’s too close, slow down...”

But Naboo is locked into the rhythm now, not hearing, not aware of anything beyond the demands of his own body.

“I _can’t_ ,” Vince wails. “Can’t stop it, Naboo, let go of me, let _go_ , just gimme a minute...”

A shudder runs through him; he heaves a huge, sobbing breath. “Oh no. Oh fuck no, I’m so sorry, so sorry…”

He buries his face in the pillow and screams in anguish as his climax hits him.

The storm breaks, and sweeps them all away.


	14. You Told Me that I Would Find...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all gone wrong, and Vince is in pieces. Is Howard up to the job of putting things right?

“Vince, it’s OK. Don’t beat yourself up.”

For someone who is going to be dead very soon, Naboo sounds remarkably calm. 

He strokes Vince’s tangled, tear-damp hair. “To be honest, I never really thought it would work, but it was nice anyway, took my mind off it… You were good.”

Vince sobs heartbrokenly into the pillow. “Not good enough – I’m so sorry, I couldn’t… An’ now you’re gonna die, and it’s my fault.”

Naboo sighs. “Well, yeah, I am, but it’s nobody’s fault, ’s just one of those things, an’ when it comes to the crunch I’m glad to be with… well… with someone who gives a fuck.” He looks at Howard. “With two people who give a fuck. We did our best, and now it’s over.”

Howard clears his throat, nervously. “It… erm… well, it might not be completely over.”

He hears Vince catch his breath.

Howard is still holding Naboo’s gaze, and suddenly there is the tiniest flash of peacock blue, a flicker of hope flitting across the corner of his mind’s eye, as the shaman too realises what Howard is saying.

But Naboo looks so fragile and exhausted…

“Only if you want.” Howard lays his hand over Naboo’s. “I mean, I’d like to try, but if you’ve had enough, if you just want to be left in peace…”

Naboo shakes his head, and links his cold fingers through Howard’s. “Don’t wanna give up yet, not while I’ve still got a chance. If you’re sure.”

“Course I am.”

“Genius!” Vince sits up, looking hopeful again already, and blows his nose on the corner of the sheet. “Howard, you’re a hero, an’ I love you. P’raps I can help?”

“Thanks, Vince.” Howard feels a rush of gratitude for Vince’s unselfishness. He looks at the unfamiliar shape of Naboo’s slender body; at the shadowy darkness between his thighs. “Erm… Could do with more light, for a start.”

“Not sure I can help you there, the main bulb’s gone.” Vince chews on his bottom lip. “We ain’t got a spare, an’ anyway… there’s no time. Here, try this.”

He tilts the bedside light so Howard can see a bit better. “Don’t worry,” he whispers confidingly in Howard’s ear, “he’s not much different from me, not really…”

Howard still hesitates, his resolve evaporating as rapidly as it came.

Naboo squeezes Howard’s hand. “Touch, look, whatever you want, if it helps. Just…”

“Get on with it?”

“Yeah.”

Howard takes a deep breath, and crawls down the bed until he’s between Naboo’s legs; then he lifts one of the little alien’s knees back, and looks.

Oh.

He’s never truly realised just how alien Naboo is. He is an odd, annoying, eccentric, short-arsed, unusual person, yes; but never before has Howard really thought of him as a different species. This, though – none of this is human…

Vince sits up, and comes to peer over Howard’s shoulder. “Lovely, isn’t it? So perfect, not a hair or a wrinkle. An’ all without cosmetic treatment. Genius.”

Howard looks again, and sees that Vince is right. The shaman’s body may be alien, but it is also subtle, elegant, beautiful.

And doomed, unless the Man of Action takes action soon. Howard draws a deep breath, and reaches out to touch; watching the play of colour below the cool, ivory-white skin as his fingertips caress it.

“Is… is this OK for you?”

“You’d know if it wasn’t.” Naboo sounds waspish; impatient. Understandable, given the circumstances. Howard glances anxiously at Vince.

“Go for it,” Vince whispers, his breath warm on Howard’s cheek. “You can do this. Start with Number Five-and-a-half, like the other day...” He takes hold of Howard’s wrist, and guides his hand to the right place, only it’s in slightly the wrong place. Howard is glad of the support. Neither threeways nor extraterrestrials had featured in any item on his mental checklist. He’d simply never imagined…

It’s smooth, and wet. His fingertip slips easily inside, and it feels more… well… human than he was expecting, although it’s all on rather a small scale.

It’s warmer than he was expecting, too, as though Naboo is now concentrating every scrap of energy his body’s still able to produce, focusing it here, in the secret heart of him, trying desperately to keep the flickering spark of life from going out.

Howard presses deeper in, trying to waste no time but not go too fast, with Vince murmuring encouragement and helpful hints in his ear.

A deep shudder runs through Naboo. “Please…”

“Not long now.” Howard adds a second finger, feeling his own arousal growing. “Hang in there, I just need to make some room, I’ll be as quick as I can.”

He brushes against a tiny oval knot of flesh, drawing a high-pitched wail from Naboo’s throat.

“Sweet spot,” Vince whispers.

Naboo arches his back, frantically trying to get more contact.

Howard’s mouth is dry with anxiety. “Try to stay still, it’s much harder for me to feel what’s what if you’re thrashing about, I’m worried I’ll hurt you.”

“It’s alright, Naboolio.” Vince presses his lips swiftly to Howard’s cheek, then lies down again beside Naboo, and strokes his hair. “Alright, sweetheart, not much longer, let’s try to keep it together, eh? Give the big man a chance. He’ll be worth waiting for, just relax, make it easier on both of you…” He cradles the little shaman against his side, soothing him with gentle kisses. “There. That’s better. This is gonna be genius, I know it…”

Vince’s ramblings are comforting, and they seem to be calming Naboo down too. Howard slides a third finger in, stretching the tight muscles and brushing against another sensitive spot.

“ _Oh_.”

“Sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for. Stop – _oh_ – bein’ so fuckin’ careful…”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Howard looks at where his hand is; looks at his own stiffened cock. He feels too big, too hairy and clumsy.

“You won’t, I – I’m tougher than I look. Please. Just – just fuck me.”

Howard hears Vince stifle a giggle, and shakes his head. “Your chat-up technique…”

Despite everything, Naboo manages to force a smile. “I learned it – from the best – an’ don’t knock it, it’s working isn’t it?”

Howard pulls out, and does his best to slick himself with the wet on his hand, but he’s not sure it’ll be enough.

Vince looks up from nuzzling at Naboo’s chest. “Need a bit of help there, Howard?”

“Erm, well, I…” Vince is at Howard’s side before he can finish or even really start that sentence; he leans down and takes Howard in his mouth, rendering both of them speechless.

In a very few seconds, Howard is definitely wet enough. Vince kisses him, tasting of all three of them, and banishing any lingering doubts Howard might have had about his own state of readiness…

He finds the place with his fingers and eases himself in, grateful for the extra lubrication; Naboo whimpers and tenses, and then Howard can feel him trying to relax, moving slowly, taking Howard gradually deeper.

So this is what Number Six is like from the other side.

It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before, but it’s turning him on, big-time: the tight heat around his cock, the supple movements of Naboo’s hips, Vince’s quiet words of encouragement, the mingled scents of their bodies.

Howard leans down, an elbow either side of Naboo’s face, caging him; the alien’s dark, shadowed eyes gaze up at him with hope and trust, and Vince is watching him too.

A sudden qualm runs through Howard. How can he possibly live up to this expectation? With his limited experience, how can he hope to succeed? And if he fails… it’ll be worse than if he’d never tried at all. Worse for all of them.

Naboo’s small hand caresses the nape of Howard’s neck. “ ’S’nice…” he murmurs, and pulls Howard down for a kiss.

“It’s gonna be fine, Howard.” Vince’s blue eyes are full of love.

Howard pulls himself together. Failure is not an option. Not while Naboo and Vince still believe in him.

Vince is stroking Naboo’s face, his throat, his hair. “How can I help, how can I make it good for you?”

“Don’t stop.” Naboo is shivering again. “Stay with me, keep me warm…”

Howard rocks his hips; he’s all the way in now, and it feels… Vince was right, it is like silk. And it is going to be fine.

Warmth is building in Howard’s groin; confidence in his heart.

But Naboo closes his eyes as though he no longer has the energy to keep them open.

“We’re losing him,” Vince whispers.

“No.” Howard palms Naboo’s cheek; kisses him fiercely. “Naboo, stay with me.”

Naboo’s eyelids flicker. “Sorry. Tuned out for a minute there... Howard… I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can. _We_ can. We’re here for you, we won’t leave you. Whatever happens.”

“I can’t…”

“Come on, course you can, you’re Naboo, that’s who.” Vince shakes him by the shoulder. “An’ we love you.”

Naboo’s breath is coming short and harsh. “Sorry guys… I’ve never had to leave it… this late before… don’t know what I’m feelin’… ’cept scared…”

“Don’t be scared,” Howard tells him. “We’ve done being scared. Be selfish instead. I don’t know what exactly you need, but you do, so go ahead, take it.”

“I need –” Naboo shakes his head, unable to find the words.

“You need us to not be so gentle?” Vince asks.

“Not you – me. Howard, I don’t wanna hurt you…”

Howard draws a finger across the shaman’s lips, hushing him. “Doesn’t matter. Do whatever it takes. I mean it. Hit me, bite me, draw blood if you have to, whatever turns you on.”

“No, I didn’t mean that sort of hurt, I meant…”

He tilts his hips to change the angle, making Howard gasp and whine. The muscles inside are gripping him with cruel tightness in a very sensitive place.

“That’s good for you?” Howard says, when he can speak again.

Vince strokes Naboo’s hard nipples; traces the ebb-and-flow of blood under the skin of his chest. “Looks like it to me.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Naboo murmurs, “that’s – _oh_.”

His back arches, and Howard can’t suppress a whimper as the muscles around him grow tighter.

Naboo looks up with concern. “Sorry.”

“No need.” Howard kisses him, looking into his eyes. “Don’t hold back. I’m fine. This is… amazing. I’ve never –”

“Howard?”

“Mmm?”

“You can stop talking now. I need to focus…”

Naboo’s eyelids fall closed again, a frown of concentration creasing his forehead as he moves with a slow, insistent rhythm against Howard’s aching erection.

Howard does his best to keep quiet, and match thrust for thrust as the tension builds. He’s no longer sure exactly what he’s feeling: pain and arousal in equal measure, agonizing, intoxicating, so intense he can hardly bear it.

He bites his lip, and tastes blood.

He wonders what Naboo is feeling; his pale, set face is giving little hint of the fierce battle that Howard knows he must be fighting, his very survival hanging by the slenderest of threads, only this tenuous connection with an alien species keeping him here at all.

The connection is real; Howard focuses on it, his senses heightened, alert to every tiny change in Naboo’s expression, every catch in his breathing, every twitch and shudder that tells Howard when to move faster or when to be still.

It is so hard to be still, when every nerve in his body is screaming at him to thrust into that slick tightness and be released.

Harder still to move, and not lose control.

But it’s working. He can feel it. They’re winning the battle. Howard grits his teeth, and hangs on, giving everything he can, hoping desperately that it will be enough…

A sudden spasm deep in Naboo’s body makes Howard draw a sharp breath of pain. Vince puts a warm hand on Howard’s lower back, rubbing gently.

Howard blows him a kiss and mouths “Thank you,” not wanting to break the silence.

Without thinking, Vince moves his hand, slides it down, into the cleft…

“Vince, no,” Howard hisses, but too late.

A surge of heat rushes through his over-sensitive cock as Vince’s finger slips, and touches him there.

No time to withdraw, even if he could; no way to hold back the inevitable.

“No – oh, no –” he presses his forehead to Naboo’s, and sobs in utter despair. “I’m sorry, I – I’m coming.”

Naboo’s eyes flicker open; unexpectedly, he smiles.

“ ’S’OK, Howard. So’m I.”

His thin chest heaves; he flings back his head and lets out a series of shrill yelps, like a seagull in the nesting season. Howard feels the alien muscles around him pulsing and contracting, squeezing his own climax almost painfully from him; then Naboo heaves a huge sigh and there is a sudden flood of warmth and wetness between their joined bodies, and Vince is kissing them both and saying “Howard, I’m so proud of you,” and Naboo is smiling and smiling but his face is shining with tears.

The pressure around Howard’s prick has mercifully eased, freeing him; he slides out and lies with his head on the shaman’s shoulder, feeling the small frail body beside him warming and relaxing as the aftershocks die away.

Vince is looking anxiously at them both. “Did it work?”

“Yeah.” Naboo wipes the back of his free hand across his eyes. “Close call, but… I’ll be OK now. Thanks.”

“No thanks to me. I almost blew it for you there…” Vince sniffs, and looks away.

“No harm done.” Howard pats him on the shoulder.

“Howard…” Vince sniffs again, and gets to his feet; he picks the duvet up off the floor and lays it back over the bed. “You’re all wet. I’ll get something to clean you both up, you just stay there an’ keep warm, back in a minute.”

He pads away down the passageway to the bathroom.

“Not surprised you’re wet. I’ve never peaked like that in my life. An’ to think I once suggested you might need owl beaks…” Naboo gives a shaky laugh.

“I’m glad we made it work,” Howard says.

Naboo hugs him tight. “So’m I.”

Howard buries his face in the curve of Naboo’s neck, and shuts his eyes. He's sticky and sweaty, his cock is throbbing painfully and he is utterly spent, but he doesn’t care. He’s proud of his evening’s work – of _their_ evening’s work…

Naboo shifts his position, and Howard winces.

“You’re sore,” Naboo whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m just relieved I was able to… you know. I don’t have a lot of experience.”

There is a short silence. Howard can hear the tap running in the bathroom.

“Howard?”

“Yeah?”

“That wasn’t… that wasn’t your first time… was it?”

“Erm, well, I can’t lie to you, not after what we’ve just… it was my first time on top, yes.”

“You should’ve said.” Naboo sounds upset. “You should’ve told me. I wouldn’t have let you… an’ I hurt you, too… an’ Vince…”

“Vince is OK with it,” Vince says from the doorway. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Naboo looks from one human to the other. “I’m so sorry, I took something special away from you…”

“You didn’t take anything we weren’t prepared to give. Isn’t that right, Vince?”

“Yeah. It was still special.” Vince puts a bowl of hot water down on the floor beside the bed. “An’ don’t worry, I’ll still be his first real boy. Now, let’s get you two sorted, you’re in a right mess here, and those sheets have had it.”

Vince cleans them both up, not even flinching at the spots of blood on the sheet where the cut on Naboo’s back has re-opened. “There, that’s better. Blimey, Naboolio, you didn’t tell us you’d flood the place...”

“It’s been a while. An’ I didn’t think that was gonna happen, anyway. I… er … I’m going to the bathroom,” Naboo mutters, scrambling off the bed and looking embarrassed.

Vince passes him a dressing gown. “You’ll come back after, yeah?”

Naboo looks at the floor, and shuffles his bare feet. “You’ll want to be on your own.”

“But you won’t, will you?”

“Won’t it be weird in the morning?”

“No, why should it be? An’ wakin’ up with Howard in the morning’s genius, he’s lovely, all crumpled and warm and just a bit grumpy. Everybody should wake up with Howard at least once.”

Naboo gives them a small nod. “OK then. Thanks.”

They watch the small figure make its way slightly unsteadily to the door, trying not to trip on the hem of the dressing gown.

“Grumpy?” Howard says, pretending to frown.

“Only a bit. An’ it’s a great excuse for me to cheer you up…” Vince kisses the frown-lines away.

“As if you needed an excuse.” Howard kisses him back, with love and gratitude.

As they are changing the sheets, Vince grins suddenly. “Hey, Howard?”

“What?”

“We did good tonight, didn’t we?”

“We certainly did, little man. We certainly did.”

Naboo comes back, still rather wobbly on his feet; he lets Vince fuss over him and tuck him into bed.

“What was that?” Howard thought he heard a faint click from the light fitting.

Vince shrugs. “Dunno, I didn’t hear anything.”

Howard flips the switch on his way back from the bathroom, just to check, but nothing happens.

Must’ve been imagining it.

He climbs back into bed and settles down in the welcome warmth.

Howard is dozing off, Naboo’s head nestled into his shoulder, when there is a sudden sharp ‘crack’ and a flash of green light.

A tall, black-clothed figure is standing at the foot of the bed; there is a rustle of feathers, and a faint smell of mothballs.

Vince whimpers in panic, and fumbles for the bedside lamp.

Howard prepares to plead for his life. He’s still got so much to give.

But Naboo doesn’t even bother to open his eyes as he says: “Oh, fuck off, Saboo.”


	15. Darkness is a Harsh Term, Don't You Think?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo has a few home truths to tell Saboo.

“Little one, I hope your next words to me are going to be ‘this isn’t what it looks like’. And that they’ll be delivered in a more respectful tone.”

Vince’s insides lurch with fear, but Naboo sits up, completely unperturbed. “Wrong on both counts, Saboo, ya ballbag. You’ve got nothin’ on me any more, after what you just did… an’ this is _exactly_ what it looks like.”

The other shaman’s lip curls. “You had sex with a _human_?”

“Two, actually. An’ you know what?”

“Oh, don’t tell me. It was good. They were gentle. You never knew it could be like that… Honestly, you are so naïve.” He raises a hand as Naboo starts to speak. “No, no, when I said ‘don’t tell me’ I meant _don’t_. Spare me the sordid little details of all your adolescent _feelings_.”

Howard is grinding his teeth; Vince can hear him. Apparently Naboo can, too, because he leans down and hisses “You stay out of it this time,” before turning back to glare at Saboo. “At least I’ve _got_ feelings.”

“So have I, little one, so have I. Chiefly contempt, at the moment, with a side order of disgust. I mean, inter-species, _really_ … I’d have thought your night of passion with Tony Harrison would have put you off that for life.”

“You were there too.”

“We all make mistakes. Some of us more than others.”

“What about those two goth girls you stopped Bollo’n’me getting’ off with at the club? They were humans. An’ you were in a _dress_ , for fuck’s sake.”

Saboo smiles. “Ah yes, my Gothic threeway…”

Vince feels a pang of regret. He’d been rather keen on a gothic threeway himself. Or preferably fourway. Although even a two-way would have done. Lovely memories flash through his mind: Howard’s arse hanging out of those split trousers, Howard’s hair all spiky and boosted and Howard’s eyes deliciously eyelinered… With an effort, he makes himself listen to what Saboo is saying. It might be important.

“Naboo, you plum, I was doing you _and_ them a favour. Several, if you think about it. And anyway, they fancied each other way more than either of them fancied me. I just… helped them to see that, and then I climbed out of the bathroom window and left them to it. But enough of these romantic reminiscences.” He takes a step closer to the bed, the smile gone as quickly as it came. “Quite apart from the species issue, you’re in bed with your employees. Unprofessional of you. To say nothing of impatient. Couldn’t you have waited?”

“Knew you’d be too late this time.”

“I am _never_ too late when it comes to the crunch. You should know that by now.”

“You’d have been cuttin’ it fuckin’ fine even if I hadn’t been doin’ high-level magic and complex drugs… or was it complex magic an’ high-level drugs… never mind. Point is, I _had_ been doin’ ’em, an’ you would’ve been too late.”

Saboo smirks.

“What’s so funny?” Naboo’s losing his cool; his voice is sharp. “I could’ve died. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“I wasn’t worried. I left you in good hands.”

Realisation hits Vince, and he sees it hit Naboo at about the same time, like a bucket of cold water in the face.

“You bastard.” Naboo is really furious now; his fists are clenched, and Vince can feel him trembling. “It was a setup, you _planned_ to cut it finer than you ever had, you _waited_ until Vince’n’Howard were back before you abandoned me…”

“And I _knew_ you’d panic like a first-timer and ask for help, if these two pathetic softies didn’t offer it first.”

“And that I’d go through hell.” Naboo draws a harsh breath. “And you wouldn’t have wanted to miss seein’ that… OK, you fuckin’ pervert, so where did you hide the recordin’ device?”

Still smiling, Saboo raises his hand, and magically extracts a small metallic block from the light fitting; the bulb comes back to life, and the room suddenly seems very bright. He holds the shiny cube between thumb and forefinger, and makes a mocking bow. “Well done. Top marks for logical deduction. How well you know me, little one.”

Naboo clambers over Vince and gets out of bed. Needing reassurance, Vince shuffles close to Howard’s side and holds his hand. He doesn’t like the way this is going. Tonight has been amazing, yes, but there are parts of it that nobody else needs to see…

“An’ you know me too well an’ all.” Naboo squares up to Saboo, looking very small in comparison. “Even down to knowin’ I wouldn’t want to do it in our bed. But sometimes even you get it wrong.”

“How so?” Saboo looks down on Naboo, as though from some lofty height.

“Arrogant prick,” Howard mutters. “I’d like to –”

Vince shushes him. “Alien shaman domestic, remember? The little guy can handle himself. You watch.”

There is still an edge to Naboo’s voice. “You thought this would be somethin’ else you could punish me for. Another hold you had over me. Another way to humiliate me… Except it didn’t.”

“Oh, really. I’d like to see you tell that to the Shaman Council while they watch this.”

“I’m tellin’ you, it didn’t.” Naboo raises his chin defiantly. “I’m not ashamed. I’ve fucked two humans tonight, and it’s the best sex I’ve ever had. You can take that video and show it to the Council; you can even stick it on XooTube if you want. But you should watch it yourself first, you might learn something.”

Saboo stuffs the device into his pocket, and puts his hands on his hips. “And what might that be?”

“That there’s other ways of lovin’ someone than bein’ shitty to them… that you can be kind to someone without hurtin’ them first… and… and… that I don’t need you any more.”

Naboo’s chest is heaving after this outburst, but Saboo seems unmoved. “Yeah, you do. These two will be geriatric by the time you next come to the crunch. And six feet under by the one after.”

“There are plenty of other humans out there. Sure, I know these two are… unusual… but they can’t be the only ones. I’ve got options.”

Saboo assumes the expression of a tolerant father listening to the earnest ramblings of a small and ignorant child. “And what about me?”

“You’ve got options too. You can change the way you do things – the way _we_ do things...”

“Romance the human way, you mean?” Saboo breaks into scornful laughter. “Little one, you are priceless. Is that what you really want? Red roses and crappy love songs? I can’t see it, somehow.”

“Might be worth a try,” Naboo says, his voice faint but stubborn. “We can’t go on as we are.”

“After the way you’ve behaved tonight?” Saboo twirls the end of his feather boa thoughtfully between his fingers. “I’m not sure there even is a _we_ any more.”

Naboo’s head droops; he catches his breath on a sob.

That’s just wrong. Nobody should treat anybody like that, least of all someone who’s just survived the crunch… Vince ignores his own advice, and loses his rag. “Well, you should’ve been there for ’im, shouldn’t you?” he shouts.

“Shut up, Vince,” Howard says fearfully.

“For once, I agree with the big berk.” Saboo pushes Naboo casually aside and takes a step towards the bed. “Don’t get involved in things that have nothing to do with you.”

“Don’t call Howard a berk. And it _does_ have to do with us.” Vince shakes off the bedclothes, and Howard’s clinging hand, to sit up and look the shaman in the eye. “We just saved Naboo’s life, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, right. You took something that belonged to me.”

“No.” Howard is trembling, his voice barely audible, but he’s doing his best to back Vince up. “You’ve no right to say that.”

“Maybe we took something you wanted,” Vince argues, “but that’s not the same. An’ if you minded… well, you should’ve thought of that before you walked out. Dunno what stupid mind-game you thought you were playin’, but it’s a bit late now to say you didn’t want us to help when it came to the crunch.”

“How dare you,” Saboo thunders, “how _dare_ you human vermin speak to me of the crunch.”

“Cos we’ve been there, you bearded tit.” Vince is too angry to be scared any more. “Been to the crunch, done the crunch, an’ we’ll be getting’ our crunch t-shirts printed tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that.” Saboo’s face is contorted with fury; he towers over the bed.

And suddenly there is a naked sword in his hand.


	16. The Fragile Substance of My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo comes to the rescue, but he doesn't find it easy.

“Don’t kill us,” Howard whimpers.

Saboo flourishes the sword with evident relish. “Give me one good reason why not.”

“We’ve got so much to give…”

“I said a _good_ reason, you pillock. You’ve got _nothing_.”

This looks bad. Again. Vince prepares to throw himself on top of Howard, to protect him.

“I’ll give you a good reason,” a hoarse voice lisps.

Saboo doesn’t even bother to turn his head. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I think you do, actually.”

Saboo taps his foot impatiently. “Well?”

“These people’re important to me.”

“Not good enough.”

“Lemme finish.” Naboo comes shakily forward, putting himself between Saboo and the bed. “They saved my life, and if you hurt them –”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Saboo sneers, towering over him. The blade glistens. Howard squeaks again, and Vince would, too, only his voice isn’t working any more. He hangs on tight to Howard’s hand, and waits to hear whether what Naboo’s about to say will make any difference…

The tiny shaman is holding himself very straight, his slender, naked body looking pale and fragile in the too-bright electric light. His voice is barely louder than the drone of the fan heater, but there’s no doubt he means every word.

“What I’ll do is, I’ll turn my back on you once and for all.”

“Huh. You’d never be able to.”

“Would too.”

“Oh, no. You wouldn’t last a decade without me. Crunch or no crunch, you’d come crawling back, begging for it…”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Naboo sounds so tired, so hopeless; it tears at Vince’s heart. “I’d turn my back on everything. On life. Just shut down, an’ go into the void.”

“You’ve gone wrong.” Saboo’s lip curls. “These – these humans matter that much to you?”

“No. Well, yeah, but that’s not why I’d do it.”

“I’m sorry, you have _totally_ lost me there. Explain yourself.”

“It’s very simple. If you harm Vince’n’Howard, I’ll never be able to forgive you, an’ then I know you an’ I will never get back together, an’…” Naboo turns his head away. “I won’t want to carry on, knowing that.”

Saboo seems suddenly at a loss. He lowers the blade, and the look on his face is almost puzzled. Almost hopeful. Almost as though he’s feeling something that isn’t scornful or angry or mean. And when he speaks, his voice is softer and less certain than Vince has ever heard it.

“Little one… You mean you…”

“Actually give a toss? Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Saboo looks shattered. “When…?”

“Don’t you know?”

There is a short silence. Vince holds his breath, waiting to see whether Saboo will pass the test he’s just been set.

“The wire,” Saboo says.

It makes no sense, but it seems to have been the right answer; Naboo is nodding, although he’s still not looking at his adversary. “The wire.” He fingers the thin scars around his wrist. “S’pose I should’ve told you. I didn’t wanna rock the boat an’ make you piss off for good.”

“But I… I thought you said you didn’t need me.”

“I did say that, yeah. An’ it’s true. But it don’t mean that I don’t _want_ you. Three hundred years I’ve put up with bein’ pushed around by you, an’ you’ve never even _liked_ me. At the beginnin’ I didn’t know any better, maybe… but I’m still here, aren’t I? Still puttin’ up with it. Still hopin’ that one day you might start to feel a bit the same way.” He heaves an exhausted sigh. “But you don’t.”

“But I do.” Saboo’s voice is a broken whisper. The sword falls from his hand, thudding onto the carpet and somehow magically missing Naboo’s bare toes. “Little one, I do…”

Naboo turns his head, very slowly, to look Saboo in the face. “Fuck me, you _do_ , don’t you?”

Saboo nods, unable to speak.

Naboo’s tense shoulders relax. “Well, at least now we’ve got somethin’ to go on. Somewhere to start again.” Saboo reaches out to him, but he backs away. “No, not here, an’ not now. I’ve been through the crunch, an’ we’ve got an audience, an’… you’ll have to give me some time, yeah?”

Shaking from head to foot, Saboo turns away. “OK. I… need to go and rethink some basic principles.”

“Yeah, you do. See you ’round,” Naboo says, casually.

Saboo opens his mouth as if to say something, but then thinks better of it. There is a sharp ‘crack’ and he dematerialises, leaving behind a few stray feathers and a faint smell of mothballs.

“Bloody hell,” Howard whispers.

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that either.” Vince’s legs have gone all wobbly with relief.

Naboo makes a small, broken sound and crumples to his knees, staring at the sword that’s still lying on the floor. Vince gets out of bed as fast as he can for the wobbliness; crouches beside him. “Naboo? It’s OK, it’s gonna be OK now.”

A small voice says: “Shit, I wish Bollo was here.”

“You’ll have to make do with us.”

“Sorry, I din’t mean –”

Vince puts a hand on his shoulder. “I know. Bollo knows how to take care of you, and we’re just guessin’.”

“You’ve been brilliant,” Naboo says absently, running a finger up the sword-hilt.

“Leave that – it can’t hurt you now. Come back to bed. Come an’ have a sleepy, an’ we’ll sort it all in the morning.” Vince gets to his feet, and reaches down to help Naboo up, too.

But Naboo isn’t listening.

“I never even let him touch me,” he whispers, and before Vince can stop him, he has closed his hand around the blade; blood seeps between his knuckles and drips onto the carpet.

Vince feels faint and sick.

“No.” Howard is there, his big hands very gentle as they prise Naboo’s fingers open. “Don’t do this, Naboo, it won’t help, believe me. That’s it, just let it go. Let it go… Vince, can you…?”

Shuddering a little, Vince takes the sword by the handle and puts it out of Naboo’s sight, on the table.

“That’s better.” Howard holds Naboo’s wrists firmly; the little alien struggles and then gives in, sobbing. “It’s all right,” Howard murmurs, holding him. “It’s only a scratch. Let’s just put this round it, till it stops. See? Easily fixed.”

Vince is close to tears himself as he sits down again beside the two of them. The damage to Naboo’s heart is going to take a lot more fixing.

“I shouldn’t have sent him away,” Naboo chokes. “What if he doesn’t come back? What if he decides…”

“Why would he?” Howard strokes slow, soothing circles across Naboo’s shaking shoulders. “You both know where you stand now, you’ve done the hardest part, and you didn’t have any magic to help you.”

“Three – hundred – years. And he never – said anything…” Naboo buries his face in Vince’s neck.

Vince holds him close. Poor little sod, he’s had the mother of all bad days and then life-saving, earth-shattering sex and now this… and he’s all sweaty, the room’s way too hot now.

“Howard, can you reach the plug? I don’t think we need the heater any more.”

Howard flips the switch, and the background hum stops abruptly.

Naboo lies on the floor with his head on Vince’s knees and cries and cries until he’s limp and soggy and completely knackered.

Vince passes him tissues and strokes his hair; Howard sits beside him with a hand on his shoulder.

Eventually the sobs die away and there is just a deep shuddering sigh every now and then, or a little moan of total miserableness.

Vince wipes away the last of the tears and chucks the wet hankie in the vague direction of the bin. He strokes Naboo’s cheek with a fingertip. “Is that it?”

Naboo sniffs. “S’pose so. For now anyway.”

“How can we help?” Howard asks. “Is there, you know, anything that would make you feel better?”

The shaman’s dark eyes flicker open. “Don’t laugh, but you know what? I could really do with a nice cup of tea.”

Between them they wrap him in Vince’s dressing gown, help him through to the lounge and put him down on the sofa. Howard starts bustling about in the kitchen, making tea and toast; Vince sits with Naboo, holding his hand.

“You wanna talk?” he asks tentatively, after a while.

“No.” Naboo turns on him savagely. “Don’t fucking wanna talk about it. Don’t wanna _feel_ it – any of it. I can’t…”

Vince remembers what he said earlier. About being third-gender being like having no skin. “I know what you need.”

“You know nothing. Just shut up an’ leave me alone, can’t bear it, talking’s not gonna help, makes it worse, ’s all going round in my head, I don’t know how to…” Naboo buries his face in his hands and groans.

“Tea’s on its way,” Howard says, sounding worried.

“I think we’re gonna need somethin’ a bit stronger, actually.” Vince pats Naboo on the shoulder, and goes to rummage in the cupboard over the sink. “Here we go… Now let’s just get some water in there, an’ we’re ready to rumble.”

He puts the lit hookah carefully down on the coffee table; takes a drag to get it going. “Blimey, I need this, even if you don’t, but actually I think you do…”

Naboo glares at him, but takes the mouthpiece and breathes in deep, the bubbles gurgling inside the vessel. He holds his breath a long moment, then blows the smoke at the ceiling and looks at Vince, a bit shamefaced. “Yeah, I did. I’m sorry I had a go at you.”

“Don’t matter, you were hurtin’ an’ I was bein’ an annoyin’ prat. I’m good at that.”

“Among other things…” Naboo takes another deep lungful, and relaxes against the cushions.

Vince looks over his shoulder as he takes the pipe back from Naboo. “Howard, you joinin’ us?”

“I don’t usually…” Howard looks dubious. Illicit substances aren’t really his cup of tea. A cup of tea is more Howard’s cup of tea…

Vince giggles, already light-headed. “Tonight ain’t usual.”

“You’re right there, little man.” Howard puts down a tray laden with three steaming mugs of tea, a teetering pile of toast, a jar of Nutella and one of Naboo’s bottles of magical tonic.

“Howard, you’re a genius, an’ I love you.” Vince blows him a kiss.

“Doesn’t take much, does it?” Howard grins. “If only I’d realised, I’d have started making you toast at four in the morning years ago…”

He sits down on Naboo’s other side, wincing a little.

“Cheers,” Naboo says quietly, passing Howard the mouthpiece and reaching for the bottle so that he can reinforce his tea with a generous dollop of evil-looking purple goop.

Howard coughs a bit at the first taste of the dope; Naboo’s preferred blend is a powerful one. But he wipes his eyes and tries again, and seems to quite like it. At any rate, he goes all relaxed and mellow, the pupils of his eyes blown wide. He sips his tea and stares at the black and white sofa pattern for a while, then reaches around behind Naboo and starts playing with Vince’s hair and singing softly to himself. “Ba-ba-dee boo-boop, skiddly diddley boo-wop - _Ow_!”

“Oi,” Vince says, kicking him in the ankle a second time just to make sure the message has got through. “You know the house rules. No scatting at breakfast time.”

“Ooo, is it breakfast time? I’m ravenous.” To Vince’s relief, by the time the jazz maverick’s finished his fourth slice of Nutella-slathered toast he’s forgotten all about the music and is entranced by the wallpaper instead.

Actually that wallpaper’s pretty genius. Look at it, all black and white and swimming around. Never really seen it properly before. Ought to do a painting of that sometime.

And there’s the moon through the window, and some stars, all shiny, and Naboo’s hair is all shiny too and so soft, the softest thing Vince has ever felt, and now Howard is stroking it too and the little shaman’s rolling his eyes and probably thinking they’re a couple of ballbags but he looks so comfy all curled up between them and he’s smiling too, they’re all smiling, this is even better than that time with the yetis…

“I love you, little man,” Howard mumbles.

“Sssh. Naboo’s asleep.”

“No, I’m not.”

“ _I_ am,” Howard says, and about three seconds later it’s true.

“Knew one of us was.” Vince shuts his eyes too, or rather stops trying to keep them open.

“Vince?” Naboo murmurs, nuzzling into Vince’s neck.

“Mmm?”

“You can both take the rest of the day off. Tell the big man when he wakes up again.”

“Are you high?”

Naboo laughs softly. “Yeah. Still givin’ you the day off though. You’ve earned it.”

“Thanks, boss. Hey, I’m glad we were there when it came to the crunch.”

“Me too.” Naboo tilts his face up to Vince’s and kisses him, tasting of chocolate.

His smoke-scented hair is soft against Vince’s cheek as Vince follows him into dreamless sleep.

 

_The Moon looks through the window at the three of them, all snuggled up in a tangled heap, and starts to sing._

_“There were three in a bed, and the little one said, fuck off, big man with sword, there ain’t room for four…_  
“There were three on the floor, and the middle one said, let’s sit on the sofa and light up a smoker…  
“There were three on the sofa, and the big one said, have a cuppa tea an’, er, some toast for me… and they all rolled over and fell asleep…” 

_He grins benignly. “Not a fuckin’ clue what’s going on there. I’m the Moon.”_


	17. All My Bridges Have Been Burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning-after awkwardness and bathtime bubbles.

Howard half-wakes from a blissful, black-velvet sleep, and blinks in the early-morning sunshine…

No, it must be quite late-morning sunshine actually, in fact according to the timer on the DVD recorder it’s nearly-lunchtime sunshine… at any rate it’s way too bright, especially for someone with small eyes.

Hang on.

Why is there a television in the bedroom, and whose bright idea was it to swap his perfectly good bed for this hideously uncomfortable sofa?

He sniffs. Smells like an ashtray in here… what irresponsible person thought it would be a good idea to smoke in bed?

And who kicked him in the head – and somewhere much more personal, too – before he fell asleep?

Howard tries to lift his arm, to rub his eyes clear and maybe figure out the answers to some of these questions, but he can’t: it’s trapped under something.

Something warm and soft and with a faint perfume of exotic spices…

Naboo?

Ah, right, yes, of course. Howard blinks again, and the sofa and its other two occupants come into focus, Vince sprawled against the cushions in the other corner, head tilted back and hair enticingly rumpled, his skimpy kimono fallen open to the waist and equally enticingly rumpled; and Naboo curled up like a kitten, half-on, half-off Howard’s lap, his eyelids flickering and a faint smile on his lips.

It’s so good to feel Naboo’s strong heartbeat and steady breathing, and he’s warm… so warm, after last night when for a while it seemed he would never be warm again.

And Vince looks beautiful and peaceful. He’s not often such a tranquil sleeper; usually he’s all fidgety, or talking in his dreams.

Howard just stays where he is for a while, enjoying the view, while his brain gradually gets up to speed.

But his back’s aching fiercely, and his arm’s got pins-and-needles, and he really needs to go to the bathroom…

He sighs, and turfs Naboo off him as gently as he can; the little shaman snuggles into Vince’s side and throws an arm over him, and they slumber contentedly on as Howard gets carefully to his feet and limps down the passage.

The trip to the bathroom is not fun.

There are some things nobody needs to see, let alone feel, and a man’s bits in that state are quite high on that list…

He’s never had bruises there before.

Looks like the Man of Action may be out of action for a while.

Howard does what he can with cold water and a flannel, and finds some painkillers in the cupboard, but he’s still feeling somewhat fragile as he heads back towards the kitchen; and now there are voices coming from the living room, and one of them at least doesn’t sound entirely happy....

The door swings open and Naboo stalks out, as well as anyone can stalk in a dressing gown that’s a foot too long. He’s pushed past Howard and locked himself in the bathroom before Howard can think of anything to say that might help.

Vince is in the kitchen, making tea and looking worried.

“And you thought I was grumpy in the mornings.” Howard passes him the milk. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, he’s… morning-after, you know… bit embarrassed an’ that, an’ it prob’ly didn’t help that I called him ‘Howard’ an’ groped his arse while I was still mostly asleep. I think I freaked him out a bit. Wasn’t the best way for him to wake up.”

The bathroom door opens, and then they hear Naboo’s bedroom door slam.

Vince sighs heavily. “I’m sorry. I let you down.”

“What are you talking about? He’ll get over it. At least he’s still here to be pissed off with us, eh?”

Howard’s encouraging tone doesn’t seem to be encouraging Vince. “No thanks to me.”

“Very much thanks to you.” Howard puts a hand on the little man’s shoulder.

Vince shakes his head vehemently. “I was useless. I came too soon, an’ I nearly made you do the same, an’ I had a go at Saboo an’ nearly got us killed, an’ Naboo saved our sorry arses but afterwards I just sat there an’ watched him hurt himself…”

“Now look.” Howard pulls Vince into a tight hug. “You didn’t let anyone down. You… You were magnificent. I couldn’t have done it without you, d’you know how scared I was? But it was OK, because you were there. You took care of us both, Vince, and I really appreciate that. And I’m sure Naboo does too.”

A sniffle comes from somewhere near Howard’s left armpit, and a muffled voice says: “Maybe you’re right.”

“I quite frequently am.” Howard kisses the top of Vince’s head, and lets him go. “Listen, I’ll go and talk to him. He probably just needs more drugs, or something.”

“Take him a cuppa an’ that bottle of purple stuff.”

“Good thinking, little man.”

“Magnificent?” Vince turns back in the doorway; his eyes are shining. “You really thought that about me?”

“Course I did. You were. You _are_.”

“Cheers, Howard.” Vince goes down the passageway to the bathroom, walking as though he’s suddenly ten feet tall.

…

“Can I come in?” Howard shuts Naboo’s door behind him.

“You are in.”

“Oh, yeah… um… I brought you some tea.”

“Thanks.”

Howard takes a couple of careful steps into the room, moving slowly and in a non-threatening way, as he would have approached a nervous and potentially dangerous animal back at the Zooniverse – a wounded chameleon, perhaps, or a vole with a hangover. “Anything I can do?”

Naboo is sitting on the bed, head in hands. “Don’t think so actually, I just… I don’t know how to do this, knew it’d be weird when we woke up again.”

“C’m on, why’s it weird? It’s just us.” Howard takes a step closer. “No weirder than some of the other situations we’ve been in.”

“I s’pose not.” Naboo doesn’t sound convinced.

Howard puts the tea and the bottle down on the bedside cabinet, and lowers himself cautiously onto the bed beside the little shaman.

There is an audible creak.

Naboo looks up. “I felt that.”

“Not as much as I did.” Howard grimaces. “I used some muscles last night that don’t get a lot of practice.”

Naboo takes the lid off the bottle and pours potion into his tea. The corner of his mouth twitches in an almost-smile. “Me too.” He takes a swig from the mug, and looks over the rim at Howard. “P’raps I can help?”

“Only if you… I mean… I don’t want to make it weirder for you. If you’d rather just maintain, well, a strictly working relationship… where you tell me to do the stocktaking, call me a ballbag on a regular basis, nag me for the rent… that’s fine. I promise I won’t embarrass you. Vince might, but Howard Moon is a professional, sir.”

“We can’t go back to how we were.”

“No. But we can, you know, not talk about stuff that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Cheers.” Naboo swirls the dregs around the bottom of his mug. “Now… your left shoulder’s hurtin’, yeah?”

Howard is impressed. “You can tell that just by looking at me?”

Naboo snorts. “Nah. ’S written in the tealeaves, innit.”

He shuffles onto the bed and kneels behind Howard so that he can reach up and massage Howard’s aching back and shoulders, repeating a series of strange, quiet words that somehow break the tight knots of pain into smaller and smaller fragments until they blow away like dust.

“Thanks. That’s a lot better.” Howard wriggles his shoulders experimentally; stretches his spine.

He catches his breath.

Naboo sits down beside him again; slides an arm around his waist. “You still hurt.”

“Yeah, but… that wasn’t my back.” Howard freezes in embarrassment.

“Oh.” Naboo glances downwards. “ ’M sorry, should’ve thought. You in trouble down there?”

“A bit.”

“I know which bit.” Naboo’s expression is sympathetic. “You gonna let me help with that too?”

“Well, if you could, I’d be grateful… I’d feel a bit of a tit, going to the doctor’s and trying to explain.”

“They wouldn’t be able to do much for you anyway.” Naboo undoes the belt of Howard’s dressing gown; his hand is cool against Howard’s bruised and tender skin. “Oh, that looks… I was a bit rough there, wasn’t I?”

Howard looks away, his cheeks flaming. “Well, it was a matter of life and death. A bit of collateral damage is only to be expected… Ow!”

“ ’Fraid you’re gonna be sore for a while. Listen, Howard, I’ll do what I can, but these count as magical injuries and there’s only so much the words of power can counteract. You might need to find some, um, other ways to keep Vince happy for a week or two. I can give you the address of a shop that sells really amazing sex toys…”

“I’m sure we’ll manage, thanks.”

Naboo murmurs more of the strange words, and the throbbing discomfort fades. “I’ve got some stuff you can put on there, too, swansdown an’ spider silk, but it’s a powerful anaesthetic agent so you have to be careful not to put too much or it’ll drop off, an’ I don’t mean just goin’ numb.”

“It’s… good of you to go to so much trouble.”

“Howard, you ballbag, you saved my life by shaggin’ me, an’ I’ve just been castin’ a spell on your weddin’ tackle… for fucksake stop bein’ so _polite_.”

Naboo is smiling, and Howard can’t help but smile back, and they reach for each other without really thinking about it.

“Hey, Howard, I’m running the bath…” Vince peers round the door, and grins. “ _Thought_ you’d gone a bit quiet in there. Looks like Naboo will be joining us, then.”

Naboo unfastens his mouth from Howard’s. “Only if you promise not to call me ‘Howard’ again.”

Vince’s grin grows wider and wickeder. “Does that mean I’m still allowed to grope your arse?”

“Depends how cold your hands are. An’ whether you’ll let me bring a bong into the bathroom. I need to get high.”

…

Vince takes first turn in the steaming hot bath, while Naboo sits cross-legged on the bathmat, puffing placidly on his beloved hash pipe.

The thick, drugged smoke mingles with the scents of strawberry and vanilla as Vince gives himself a thorough hairwash. “Blimey, I need this… Howard, can you pass me that blueberry de-tangler? Got some right sticky bits in ’ere, an’ I don’t want to know what they’re stuck with.”

“Or whose,” Naboo adds.

Vince flicks a wet flannel at him. “Shut up an’ keep smokin’, you got some serious catching-up to do to get your drug levels back to normal.”

“Oh yeah.” Naboo gives the pipe his full attention again.

Vince looks up to where Howard is perched on the edge of the tub. “Hey, Howard – you wanna join me? Could do with some help washin’ my back.”

He scoots forward until his bent knees are up against the taps; Howard clambers awkwardly in behind him.

It’s gloriously hot, just what Howard’s aching muscles need. And Vince’s wet skin sliding against his own is a lovely feeling, although Howard’s not in the ideal state to appreciate it as fully as he usually does. Naboo’s numbing potion has done its work well.

Howard takes his time over the washing, and finds that he can savour the experience as an end in itself rather than as a lead-up to sex. It’s just good to be with Vince, and to be warm and relaxed and not worried about anything. Seasoned Man of Action though Howard Moon may be, all that life-or-death stuff was rather hard work.

And it’s good to have Naboo there too, content in their company, smiling happily through a haze of weed fumes. This morning could so easily have been very different. They could have been contacting Dennis to arrange a funeral…

Howard shivers.

Vince looks round. “You gettin’ cold?”

“No, I was just… thinking.”

“Think about something else, then. That thought’s rubbish. I can tell just by lookin’ at you.”

So Howard thinks about something else: about leaning forward and kissing Vince’s beautiful wet mouth.

“Well?” Vince is smiling at him. “Don’t just think about it. Doin’ it’ll be much better.”

He’s right, of course. It is better. Much better.

Howard reaches for Vince’s hand and clasps it tight.

Vince lets out an anguished squawk.

Howard tenses all over. “What?”

“I’m wrinklin’ up, Howard, I gotta get out of here!”

“Don’t frighten me like that.” Howard slaps him on the arse as he scrambles out.

He can’t help looking admiringly at Vince’s wet nakedness, purely from an aesthetic point of view…

Vince sees him looking and stage-whispers: “Later.”

“None of that for a while, I’m afraid.” Howard blushes, and looks down at himself. “I’m gonna need a bit of recovery time.”

“Me too,” Vince admits, wrapping himself in a fluffy bathrobe.

“I got some magic stuff for that,” Naboo says. “You might need to get Howard to put it on for you though, I’m seein’ double right now, wouldn’t want to numb the wrong bits…” He giggles.

“Are you high?” Vince looks down at the small figure on the bathmat.

“Yeah.”

“Right.” Vince takes the pipe from Naboo’s hand, and hauls him to his feet. “You can stop smokin’ for a few minutes, then, an’ have a bath.”

Naboo staggers, and leans against Vince’s chest. “Fraid you’ll have to help me in. Legs have gone.”

Vince rolls his eyes, picks the shaman up bodily and lowers him into the bath, in front of Howard.

“ ’S’not hot enough,” Naboo complains. “Nothin’ on this rubbish planet’s ever hot enough.”

“I dunno, aliens eh, never satisfied…” Vince adds more hot water, and a splash of something violently pink that makes mountains of creamy bubbles. “There. An’ if you’re still cold, you’ll just have to snuggle up to Howard.”

“I already was.” Naboo leans back, his sleek head pillowed on Howard’s shoulder, his wet body sliding against Howard’s stomach. Howard puts a hand on Naboo’s chest, to feel his heart beating; the skin flushes at his touch.

“It remembers you,” Naboo says.

“Me too?” Vince leans over and strokes him, and smiles. “Yeah, look.” Then his face falls. “But you’re hurt still.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’ll fade soon. I can help it along a bit.” Naboo murmurs something, and the blackening bruises on his ribs and thighs fade to dull lilac as they watch. “What about my back?”

Howard lifts him forward, and looks. “It’s almost gone, can hardly see it. It was a very clean cut… Is your hand OK?”

He takes Naboo’s hand and looks at the line across the palm; the edges already knitted. Then he runs his fingers down to Naboo’s wrist, caressing the soft white skin with its whiter scars. “These… you didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t. That was a long time ago. Something magical that went a bit wrong, an’ that’s all you need to know.”

“The wire?” Vince asks.

Naboo sighs heavily, and squeezes his eyes shut.

“At least he knows now.” Vince’s voice is gentle. “You just have to wait for it to sink in.”

“It’s up to him now – I did what I could…” Naboo holds Howard’s hand tight, like a lifeline.

“It was the right thing to do,” Howard says.

“I hope so.”

“We _know_ so.” Vince picks up a flannel and wrings it out. “Now, let’s get you un-stickied down here and then we can sort your hair out. I’ve got some coconut conditioner that’s just the perfect product for you…”


	18. That's exactly how this grace thing works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the afternoon after the morning after the night before, and things are slightly less awkward.

Even when there aren’t any tangles in Naboo’s hair any more, Vince keeps combing.

He’s proud of his handiwork, and it feels so good, the heavy black locks sliding over his fingers, silky-smooth and clean-smelling, just asking for one more stroke, and then another, and another…

The rhythm of it is threatening to lull Vince to sleep, right there on the sofa. But Howard hasn’t finished making… whatever-it-is he’s in the kitchen making… and Vince doesn’t want to doze off and risk missing out on food, so he’s trying to keep awake by chattering away about everything and nothing, whatever comes into his head.

“… an’ that’s how I found out about the coconut stuff, I tried the lemon meringue one too but it just made me frizz up, it was awful. Smelt good, though. Shit, I’ve gone an’ made myself hungry now, not sure whether we’re about to have breakfast or lunch or what, but I’m so ready for it, an’ you must be too… maybe I’ve been inhalin’ your fumes…”

Naboo just sits there propped against him in a cloud of weed-smoke, completely relaxed, nodding and smiling. He hasn’t been listening at all, and Vince knows he hasn’t, but he doesn’t mind. Years of not-listening to Howard have taught Vince that it can be very comforting just to have a familiar voice burbling on in the background when you have a lot else going on in your mind tank.

It would be nice, Vince thinks, if Howard would let Vince take care of his hair like this sometimes too… maybe he should ask him… sorting Howard’s hair while he’s awake could be a lot more fun than midnight barbering…

…

 

“Thanks Howard, that was great.” Naboo puts his empty plate on the coffee table, and leans back on the sofa cushions.

“It was only a cheese sandwich,” Howard says modestly. “It was nothing really.”

Vince is going to make the obvious retort, but a huge yawn sneaks up on him and stops him.

“Stop it, you’ll set me off too…” Naboo’s eyelids are drooping.

Howard stifles a yawn behind his hand. “Vince was well away before we’d even had lunch.”

“I think it was breakfast actually. But yeah, I admit, I was driftin’ off a bit, it didn’t half make me jump when you shoved that tray into my lap.”

“At least Naboo caught your sandwich before it hit the floor.”

“Shamanic reflex training.” Naboo looks smug. “Took me two hundred years to learn to do that.”

“Two hundred years of tossin’ cheese sandwiches on the floor? You’re mental…” Vince yawns again, and is sure that this time he can hear his jaw cracking in half. “It’s no good, I’m goin’ to have to go an’ have a sleepy. Anyone comin’ to join me?”

Naboo and Howard exchange glances.

“We both are,” Howard says.

It seems that Naboo’s got over his doubts, then. The frozen awkwardness of first thing this morning seems a lifetime away. It’s going to be OK now.

Actually, Vince knew it was going to be OK as soon as he walked into Naboo’s bedroom and found him snogging Howard… result, one very pretty and sexy mental image, carefully filed away by the brain secretary for future viewing … and Vince didn’t feel jealous or regretful or left-out, he was just happy that they were having a nice time.

Vince is over his doubts of this morning too. Howard called him magnificent. It makes him feel warm and tingly all over just to think of it, and he’s got the brain secretary to put it right at the front of the big drawer in her desk marked HAPPY MEMORIES so he can think of it instantly, every time he feels wobbly about anything, and then nothing will ever be able to make him feel wobbly ever again.

Well, perhaps a big angry shaman waving a very sharp sword might still make him wobble a bit. But that’s not going to happen again, he’ll know to keep his trap shut next time…

“You comin’, Vince?” Naboo is standing in front of him, hands on hips.

Vince bites back _that_ obvious retort as well, and reaches out a hand so Howard can pull him to his feet.

…

It’s cosy in Howard’s bed with all three of them. And it feels really nice with all that clean bare skin. There didn’t seem any point putting pyjamas on – as Naboo said, they’ve all seen it all anyway – so they just wriggled out of their respective dressing-gowns and snuggled under the duvet.

Naboo stretches out between the two humans and heaves a deep sigh.

Pleasantly full of sandwich, and half asleep, Vince smooths Naboo’s hair on the pillow, wondering whether Naboo will let him tidy it up again when they get up.

The tiny alien turns his head to smile at Vince, then takes his hand, kisses the inside of his wrist, pulls Vince’s hand down under the duvet and places it very deliberately on that soft blank swelling where his unmale bits aren’t.

Howard’s hand is already there.

“Naboo?”

“You don’t have to,” Naboo whispers.

“But you’d like us to.” Howard strokes Naboo’s skin, his fingers brushing against Vince’s.

“I wasn’t expecting to want this. But I do.” Naboo sounds nervous. “Can’t explain, it’s…for comfort as much as anything… an’ I know you’re… y’know, out of action… Do you need any more of the ointment yet, by the way? I can go and get it…”

“Hey, steady there.” Vince can feel Naboo trembling. “It’s all right, we’re fine.”

“That’s powerful stuff, it’s still working for me. Don’t fret.” Howard reaches across with his free hand, to stroke Naboo behind his ear. “You want to find out, don’t you.”

“Find out what?” Vince is puzzled.

“How this is possible, for future reference… am I right?”

Naboo looks across at Howard. “Yeah. Look, I don’t want you to think I’m just usin’ you…”

“Shush. Course we don’t.” Vince presses his palm down a little more firmly, feeling Naboo’s pulse beating underneath it, the skin warming at the contact. “An’ if this is what you want…”

“I just want to know. Whether it’ll work for me if I take it slowly, without the Crunch hanging over me. Without… violence, or restraints, or anything complicated.”

“Oh, I see.” Vince kisses Naboo affectionately on the cheek. “You just want us to give you a nice time. No strings attached.”

Howard grins at Vince. “I think we can do that. Don’t you, little man?”

Their joined hands move downwards, slowly.

…

 

“Did I make a noise?”

“Just a bit.” Vince grins, and shakes his head. “What are you like? Thought you said you weren’t as loud as us.”

“Or as frequent,” Howard adds.

“Like Bournemouth beach, it was.” Vince tidies Naboo’s hair off his damp forehead.

“Bournemouth?” Naboo says vaguely, stretching out so Howard can finish cleaning him up. “Haven’t been there in years, Kirk an’ I went clubbing there once, it was great, should do it again sometime…”

“The seagulls, I meant. Trumpeting away. Bit like one of Howard’s awful records.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Howard’s only pretending to be annoyed though, the corner of his moustache is twitching and giving him away. He chucks the soggy tissues into the bin. “Anyway, it was more of a yelp, I’d have said. Like the sound Vince makes when you tickle him.”

“I do _not_.”

Howard tickles him.

Vince yelps.

“I rest my case, sir.”

Naboo laughs out loud. Not a sound they hear very often, unless he’s completely off his tits on drugs. “You two are mental.”

“We’re unique,” Howard declares.

“ _And_ mental,” Vince adds.

“No wonder I have to rescue you so often,” Naboo says.

Howard chuckles. “Naboo, what’s a mighty shaman like you doing hanging around with a pair of human nutters like us? Getting us out of scrapes, sorting out our messes? Why d’you bother?”

“Did I ever tell you…” Naboo hesitates. “No, I didn’t, did I. Maybe it’s time I did.”

“Tell us what?” Howard’s voice has gone all soft. The sort of voice that would make Vince tell him _everything_ , because he sounds so comforting and gentle and interested.

Naboo bites his lip. “Do you remember the day I first came to the zoo?”

Vince grins. “Course I do. It was the same day I started work there.”

“So it was. Always thought it was just coincidence. I was giving Vince a lecture on the different types of dung shovel, and you walked right up to us and said, ‘Hello, I’m a visitor.’ And when I said ‘I know that’, you said ‘Not that sort of visitor, I mean one from outer space.’ ”

“It wasn’t a coincidence.” Naboo pulls the duvet up to his chin, and snuggles down between both of them. “I got a powerful call to that exact time and place, must’ve been an energy surge from you two gettin’ together.”

“But we didn’t –” Vince frowns. “Not till much later.”

“Maybe you did, but you just didn’t know it yet. Whatever. But I knew that I had to be there, on that day, an’ that I had to talk to you.”

Howard tucks the corner of the duvet in. “I thought you were just a weirdo. We used to get a few, and they always seemed to home in on me.”

“I thought your hat was pretty genius… Howard said ‘Can I help you?’ in the way that really means ‘please go away and stop bothering me’ but you didn’t get the message.”

“You just asked, ‘Is there anywhere here I can get a cup of tea?’ ”

“An’ you looked all small and lost, so we took you to the vending machine.”

“And I bought you a tea, because told us you didn’t have any Earth money.”

Vince giggles. “Howard went on falling for that trick for _weeks_ …”

“Yeah, well, so did you.”

“The tea was rubbish.” Naboo screws up his face as though he can still taste it. “But my shaman-senses told me I had to drink it, right down to the dregs. You stood there and watched me, like you didn’t know what to say…”

“I didn’t. Zookeeper training didn’t include interplanetary relations.”

“An’ I didn’t, cos I couldn’t believe anybody could actually drink more than a couple of mouthfuls of that stuff.”

“I didn’t drink it from choice, I tell you. An’ after all that, the tealeaves at the bottom said THESE TWO ARE BALLBAGS. I thought, tell me somethin’ I don’t know… then I said…”

“That you needed another one.” Howard looks thoughtful.

“I did, too. Thought it was just exposure to an alien atmosphere givin’ me weird cravings.”

“An’ I made Howard pay for it again, cos I didn’t have any money either. Did that one have tealeaves too?”

Naboo nods. “They said BUT STICK WITH THEM BECAUSE.”

“So that’s why you complained about the cups being too small.”

“Yeah, I meant the base area, not the volume.”

“And then somehow I found that I’d bought you a third cup of tea.”

“There are advantages to havin’ high-level magical training in the psychological manipulation of alien species. I hadn’t had many opportunities to try it out before. But it worked like a dream on you. Or maybe it was just my small size and the pitiful expression in my dark eyes…”

“So what did the third one say?” Vince wriggles with excitement. He loves a good story.

“ ‘Because… the one with the moustache is the best-looking and most intelligent human you will ever meet?’ ” Howard suggests.

“Nah, Howard, that’s way too long for one teacup. Even though it’s true.” Vince winks at him.

“All a matter of perspective,” Naboo mutters.

“Did it say, ‘because the other one is Vince Noir, an’ he’s a monkey genius’?”

“No.” Naboo looks at Howard, and then at Vince. “It was possibly the worst cup of tea in the history of the known universe…”

“Just tell us what it _said_!” Vince squeaks.

“Delayed narrative gratification isn’t his thing,” Howard says apologetically.

Vince sticks his tongue out at Howard. “I do other sorts rather well, though.”

Naboo rolls his eyes. “The leaves said, THEY’LL SAVE YOUR LIFE. Didn’t say how, or when. But they’re never wrong. So I got you to take me to the manager’s office, I asked for a job at the zoo an’ Fossil interviewed me on the spot. I didn’ know what to say an’ I was high as a kite on all that caffeine, so I just said the first thing I thought of, which was how crap the tea was out of that machine, an’ he said, ‘OK freakball, you think you can do any better, we’ll give you a kiosk in the shape of a camel, and you can start Tuesday. Nice hat,’ an’ that was that. The start of my career in retail.”

“An’ did the tealeaves tell you to give us a job when the zoo closed down?” Vince asks.

“Yeah. Well, you didn’t think I hired you because you were any good at shopkeeping, did you?”

“I’m a gifted child,” Vince protests. “I’m good at everything.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“What _is_ your point?”

“That there’s a reason we’re still together. I need you, and you need me. It was written in the tealeaves that first day, and it’s gone on being written in the tealeaves ever since. They always tell me when you’re in trouble an’ need me to sort you out.”

“Right down to my aching shoulder, this morning.” Howard’s face is full of wonder. No wonder, after spending years thinking that he was only tolerated for Vince’s sake.

Naboo smiles at the big man. “Didn’t I tell you that everything’s connected?”

“You did. But I thought you were talking about me and Vince – didn’t realise you meant you as well.”

Vince is struck by a sudden pang of worry. “So Naboolio, what happens now?”

“Now?”

“Yeah. Now you don’t need us to save your life any more.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, don’t worry.” Naboo grips Vince’s hand. “Stuck with you this far, haven’t I? Can’t imagine doin’ any different, not now. What I mean is… we’re friends. Not sure when that happened, to be honest, but it was a while ago that I realised I’d help you out anyway even if my life didn’t depend on it, an’ I know I never said anything –”

“And went on calling us ballbags,” Howard murmurs.

“And saving our sorry arses,” Vince reproaches him.

“ –But I was glad of it.”

“So are we.” Howard kisses him, gently, and Vince follows Howard’s lead.

“Thanks for telling us,” Howard says.

“Yeah, cheers.” Vince yawns. “I love a good bedtime story. An’ I’m glad this one’s not over, although as far as I’m concerned it’s got to the part that says ‘an’ they all fell asleep in a big cosy pile, an’ didn’t wake up for at least another three hours…’ ”

…

Late that evening, after they’ve finished an epic takeaway and are lying heavily on the sofa, completely stuffed and watching Peacock Dreams, the bell tinkles and the shop door slams.

Heavy footsteps thump up the stairs, two at a time.

“Bollo!” Naboo is on his feet on the instant, stumbling over to the doorway; he hurls himself at his familiar, and the big hairy arms enfold him, holding him close.

“Alright, Naboo?”

“I missed you.”

“Bollo know.” One big hand caresses Naboo’s rumpled hair.

Naboo’s voice is muffled in the gorilla’s fur. “Thought you’d be away a lot longer’n this. Dennis said a week at least.”

“Bollo hear you wish he was here, and your wish is Bollo’s command, so Dennis had to let Bollo come home. Should’ve been back this morning but Dennis’s spare carpet was rubbish, misfiring the whole way, took all fuckin’ day.”

He lowers his head gently, to rest his cheek on Naboo’s hair, and draws a deep breath. “Coconut, mmmm, nice. Naboo been to hairdresser?”

“I’ve been fixin’ his hair, actually.” Vince waves.

“Nice job. Hey, Vince.”

“Good to see you too, Bollo.”

“Hi Bollo,” Howard pipes up.

The gorilla frowns. “You still here, Harold?”

“Leave it,” Naboo says, “they saved my life… Bollo, I got such a lot to tell you, I dunno where to start…” He wipes the back of his hand across his eyes.

“Bed,” Bollo says firmly. “Bed good place to start. Bollo here to take care of you now.” He picks Naboo up with no apparent effort at all, and glares at Vince and Howard. “Bollo just glad these two ballbags somehow manage not to screw it up. Funerals not Bollo’s scene.”

The heavy footsteps, a bit heavier now, go off down the passage, and Naboo’s bedroom door closes firmly.

Howard chuckles. “I think that’s as near to thanks as we’re going to get. But it’ll have to do.”

Vince can’t reply.

“Vince?” Howard says softly, turning to him.

“I’m OK.” Vince sniffs. “No, I’m not, I’m wellin’ up. Sorry…”

“Doesn’t matter, little man. There’s nobody here to see except me, and… and…” Howard sniffs too.

“Honestly, what are we like?” Vince hugs him tight. “Come on, let’s go to bed. We’ve got a bit of catchin’ up to do.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Howard clicks the TV off.

“Howard?”

“Yes, Vince?”

“Before we go to sleep, can I… Can I sort your hair out too?”

“Course you can, I’d like that. But can you sort something else out for me first?” Howard grimaces as he gets off the sofa. “I think the numbing ointment’s wearing off.”


	19. it's not the long walk home that'll change this heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after the morning after. Naboo finds that some significant things have changed.

_you wake up in your own bed_

_the sun is coming through a gap in the red curtains and making the mirror-hangings sparkle with tiny rainbow reflections_

_for a minute you think you’ve just had a really bizarre dream_

_but your back hurts a little bit, and your unmale parts hurt a little bit too, not in a bad way, just enough to convince you that it may have been bizarre alright, but it wasn’t a dream_

_it’s always such a relief having been through the crunch and come out the other side, your energy and your magic returning, your mind and body readjusting themselves back to normal for the next half-century_

_this time there is going to be rather more readjusting than usual, and you have a feeling that normality isn’t in the same place it was_

_so it’s deeply reassuring to find that bollo is snoring beside you, his fur tickling your nose_

_at least some things are still the way they’re supposed to be_

_you stretch your aching body in bollo’s animal-smelling warmth and watch the little rainbows dancing on the ceiling, and think about the gift your human friends have given you, about the two of them working together to save you_

_you thought they only stayed here because they’d never get a job anywhere normal, you always worried that they’d leave you_

_but the tealeaves said you had to stick with them, and you will, even though it’s out of tealeaf jurisdiction now_

_yesterday afternoon they were so careful, so gentle, somehow they understood what you needed even though you didn’t really understand it yourself_

_they got you off just by being kind_

_it was when howard said that people weren’t kind to you very often… that was when you admitted to yourself that that was what you craved, that was what -_

_\- go on, you have to think of him sooner or later -_

_\- what saboo wasn’t giving you, except when he’d hurt you first_

_and that slow, ecstatic, mind-blurring climax yesterday proved to you beyond any doubt that you were wrong about the sex all these years_

_you were too young when you started down this road and you thought it was the dominance you wanted when all the time it was just **him**_

_you thought he’d despise you or worse, leave, if you tried to change things_

_now, for better or worse, you’ve changed things_

_you had to change things_

_taking the risk, now that you both know you’ll be able to survive, somehow, even if he doesn’t want to be with you any more…_

_won’t be much fun_

_best not think about that until it happens, because perhaps it won’t_

_perhaps he’ll watch that recording and understand that it’s the comfort that does it for you, not the hurt_

_perhaps one day it’ll be him giving you a nice time with no strings attached_

_you feel more hopeful this morning_

_bollo snorts awake, the way he does every day_

_\- hey bollo_

_\- hey naboo, how you feelin’?_

_\- ok_

_he pulls back the covers and checks you over, gentle and thorough_

_this powerful creature can knock out a horse or break a man’s spine with a flick of his arm_

_but he’s your familiar, that power is at your command, your life is totally safe in these big warm hands_

_he grunts approval - vince and harold did a good job_

_\- call howard by his right name from now on, the man saved my life, you don’t have to like him, but show him a bit of respect_

_\- thought you said precious vince saved you_

_\- it took both of them, both of them together, they’re a team_

_\- like you and me?_

_\- yeah - you hug him - like you and me_

_\- an’ what about saboo?_

_that throws you for a loop, you didn’t think bollo knew about that, and you gave him a heavily edited version of your crunch night, just told him saboo came back too late and you sent him packing_

_he looks into your eyes - bollo did know, bollo always knew, from first time bollo saw you two together at shaman council, but not bollo’s place to say anything… so, what about him?_

_\- don’t know, not yet_

_he nods - let bollo take care of you while you wait to find out, yes?_

_\- yes - you hide your face in his shoulder, and promise yourself you’ll never ever think about upgrading your familiar again_

_he pats you on the back - good, now how about some breakfast, you still way too skinny, one puff of breeze in forest would blow you away like fragile twig_

_suddenly ravenously hungry, you pull on your robe and head to the kitchen_

_you halt in the doorway, something’s not right in here_

_a faint smell of mothballs, a stray black feather on the floor…_

_your heart lurches into your throat_

_on the table in a glass vase is a big bunch of roses, so dark red they are almost black, velvety and fragrant_

_their stems are held together with a thin strand of wire that you recognise at once_

_no, no, no, not more messing with your head, you are so over all that_

_tears of rage and disappointment welling up, you reach for the flowers to put the whole lot in the bin but then you stop_

_underneath the vase is a piece of vintage sheet music_

_with a little metallic cube resting on it_

_and a message written at the top_

\- principles rethought, it pains me to admit it but the humans may have a point - call me when you’re ready, little one

_you can’t read the earth-notated tune, you make a mental note to ask howard to play it for you later_

_but the lyrics make you bury your face in bollo’s fur and cry and cry with unbearable relief and hope_

You always hurt the one you love, the one you shouldn’t hurt at all;  
You always take the sweetest rose and crush it till the petals fall;  
You always break the kindest heart with a hasty word you can’t recall;  
So if I broke your heart last night, it’s because I love you most of all.


	20. Time Is On My Side (Yes, It Is)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Crunch, Naboo and Saboo have made a new start, and Vince and Howard are recovering nicely. What could possibly go wrong?

It’s quiet in the flat. Nice cosy quiet.

Naboo and Bollo have fired up the magic carpet and taken off for Xooberon for the weekend for a meeting of the Board of Shamen; and since it’s a rainy Friday afternoon with few customers, Howard and Vince closed the shop early.

They have put the time to good use.

“Ow!”

“Don’t be such a wimp, Howard.” Vince runs the comb through Howard’s hair one more time, then leans back and looks critically at his handiwork. “It’s not my fault your hair’s so thin.”

“Fine. My hair is _fine_ , Vince, not _thin_. It’s an important semantic distinction.”

Vince snorts.

“What’s so funny?”

“Thought I’d just spent half an hour washing all of that out of it.”

“Se _man_ tic, Vince… oh, never mind. Just be careful with that comb, OK?”

“I’m always careful with my comb. This, my friend, is a design tool in the hands of a master. Your hair’s gonna look genius by the time I’m finished with it.”

Vince goes back to his work, enjoying the feeling of Howard’s soft, thin hair between his fingers. Even if it is a bit like combing smoke: you only have to breathe on it and it’s all over the place again.

After shutting the shop, they went for a little sleepy, which turned into something that wasn’t sleepy at all. Hence the need for shower times and Howard singing ‘ _Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of my Hair_ ’ while Vince helped him to do exactly that.

It was very nice indeed, all of it, but it was a bit one-way and there’s something that Vince forgot to ask, in the heat of the moment.

“Howard?”

“Yes, little man?”

“I was just wondering. I mean… I know my bits’re back in working order and everything, but what about yours?”

“Mine are fine. Coming along fine, mending nicely, and no, you don’t need to check them out for me.”

“Don’t need to. Want to, though. This afternoon was so good, Howard, isn’t there somethin’ I can do for you?”

“Well…” Howard is tempted, Vince can tell by the way he’s chewing on the corner of his moustache. And by the way he’s just crossed his legs so Vince can’t see what’s happening inside his dressing gown.

Vince puts the comb down on the coffee table and slides off the sofa to kneel at Howard’s feet. “How about a Number Five?”

Howard thinks about this for a while; Vince watches those beloved Northern features as they switch rapidly between Nordic Worry and Turkish Lust and finally settle into their familiar pre-blowie expression of Moderate Yorkshire Anticipation.

“All right, but it’ll have to be a very gentle one.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be in good hands. And” – Vince grins wickedly – “in an even better mouth.”

…

“Hey, Howard.”

“Mmm?” His long, lean frame totally relaxed after what was clearly one of Vince’s better Number Fives, Howard settles his head more comfortably on Vince’s shoulder.

“D’you think Saboo’s gonna be at the board meeting too?”

“I’d assumed so, yes. There’s no reason he wouldn’t be.”

“I hope it’s all going all right.”

Howard reaches up to stroke Vince’s hair. “Of course it is. He’s… well, you saw how he was last week, when he came round to apologise.”

“After we’d spent three days persuading Naboo to pick up the phone.” Vince grins at the memory. “Otherwise he’d still be sitting here staring at it.”

He glances across the room to where the almost-black roses are still in flawless full bloom in their vase, on top of the TV set. “Poor Naboolio. He found it so hard to make the next move…”

Howard mimics the little shaman’s lisping voice. “ ‘I don’t know how to do this.’ ”

“ 'Just call him,' ” Vince says, pretending to be Howard.

“ ‘I can’t, I’m not ready to hear his voice –’ ”

“ 'Listen, he’s sitting there waiting, staring at his phone too, an’ I never thought I’d feel sorry for him but the poor sod, put him out of his misery, sir…' ”

“ ‘I can’t, I can’t think what to say…’ ”

“An’ eventually you suggested he text him, an’ it took him about another half an hour to type ‘think I’m ready, so what happens now?’…”

“…and of course Saboo rang him straight back. The poor sod _had_ been sitting staring at his phone too.” Howard pulls Vince closer. “I thought Naboo’d never stop crying when he finally rang off again and told us he’d been invited out for dinner...”

“It was good Saboo came to apologise to us first, that can’t have been easy for him, he’s always been so up himself with all that humans-are-inferior crap. But he was actually quite nice, for a change.”

“I think he’d realised the boot was on the other foot. That he’d have to start all over again, and do it properly this time. He even asked my advice about the proper procedures for courtship… Oi.” Howard pokes Vince in the ribs. “Stop sniggering. Howard Moon knows what is expected of an old-fashioned gentleman, sir.”

Vince smiles, and hugs Howard tight, breathing in the scent of that big Northern body, all sweat and tweed and coffee and sex. “I’m not complainin’ about your courtship procedures, Howard. It was a happy laugh, not a dissing-Howard one. I was just thinkin’ about how Naboo was walkin’ on air when he came back afterwards…”

“And all they’d done was have dinner and talk. He couldn’t remember what they’d eaten, even.”

“Or what they’d talked about. But whatever it was, it convinced him they did have somethin’ in common apart from just the gone-wrong sex.”

“They’d just never spent enough time together to find that out, before.” Howard sounds thoughtful. “They’re lucky that they’re such a long-lived species. Humans don’t get much time to get it right. But one thing those two have got plenty of is time.”

“An’ now they can start again, take it slow… Poor Naboo, he was so worried he’d just get the brush-off, an’ now it’s like all his Christmases and birthdays have come at once an’ he can’t quite believe it. I thought he was goin’ to talk about Saboo all night.”

“Smitten,” Howard says. “Utterly, totally smitten. I know the feeling.”

“Pretty good goin’ after three hundred years though, eh?”

“Vince, if you and I had three hundred years together, we’d be the same.”

“Yeah.” Vince reaches up to kiss Howard. “Yeah, Howard, I reckon we would.”


	21. it was the best of times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo reflects on a love story that ended far too soon.

_what are you waiting for?_

_you’re falling but you can’t fall_

_the liquid holds you up, keeps you down, thick and terrifying_

_you drown and yet you burn_

_cold green fire licking your hot wet skin_

_you’re gasping but you can’t breathe_

_the tube in your arm is carefully calibrated, only just enough_

_it’s a nightmare but you can’t sleep, you scream but you make no sound_

_they fixed open your eyes and mouth_

_the lights never go off_

_no rest, no darkness_

_no escape from the memories_

_your familiar’s eyes as your hand slipped from his grasp_

_two friends you never said goodbye to, not properly, - so long, ballbags, don’t touch my stuff - doesn’t really count_

_red roses and candlelight, music, a moment when there was a soft mouth on yours and you felt a happiness and hope you’ll never feel again_

_\- let’s leave it there for now, little one - he said - we’ve got all the time in the world to do the rest_

_but in the end you had almost no time at all_

_it ended before you’d properly begun_

_it took seconds for the crash, minutes for the capture, hours for the processing_

_and now you’re here for a lifetime_

_a specimen preserved_

_an example_

_a trophy_

_a helpless toy for them to play with when they get bored_

_no going up, no going down, no going back_

_no help that can possibly reach you_

_so why not take the one way out that’s left to you, and go into the nothingness that’s on the other side…_

_what are you waiting for?_


	22. Time for Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince and Howard have a visitor.

“Aww, bollocks.” Vince peers out of the window. “Why does it have to start pissing down right when we were gonna go to the pub?”

Howard goes to stand beside him. “We could take an umbrella.”

“Too windy. Look at the aerials all blowin’ about. An’ that pigeon’s goin’ backwards. No way am I taking my hair outside in that.”

“Well… I could go to the offy, lay in a few beers, pick up a film from the rental shop…”

“They’ll be shut. They close early on a Sunday.”

“Just the beers, then?”

There is a bright flash in the distance. Vince shivers. “Nah, I’m fine.”

“Oh,” Howard says, and puts his arm round Vince just in time, right as the rumble of the thunder reaches them. “On second thoughts, how about we just draw the curtains and make a nice pot of tea, eh?”

Vince hugs him. “Cheers, Howard. That’d be great.” He jumps, as another flash splits the sky and another roll of thunder follows it, closer and louder.

They’ve just settled down on the settee and are working on a new crimp about thunderstorms, when there is a frantic banging on the shutters downstairs.

Vince jumps again. “What the fuck’s that?”

“Maybe Naboo forgot his keys and is too wasted to magic the lock. D’you want me to go and see who it is?”

“Nah, you’re alright Howard. If it’s not thunder, I’m not scared of it. You be mother, an’ I’ll go an’ let ’em in.”

Howard pours out, smiling to himself.

There are noises off on the stairs – stumbling footsteps, and Vince murmuring encouragement. Naboo must be really wasted.

But when the door opens, it’s Saboo who comes through it, leaning heavily on Vince’s shoulder.

Vince helps him across the lounge; he collapses on the sofa, next to Howard.

He looks a wreck. He’s shaking, dishevelled, his hat battered out of shape and its feather hanging limply.

“What happened?” Howard asks, though he’s afraid to hear the answer.

The big shaman buries his face in his hands.

Vince sits down on the arm of the sofa, his face very serious. “It’s Naboo. He’s been arrested. By the Testicular Dominoes or somefink.”

Saboo raises his head, his face rain-streaked. “Heptacular Dominion, you teacup.” Even his insults aren’t up to their usual standard.

Howard looks in horror at the row of raw weals down the shaman’s jaw and neck. “What the – ”

“A race of seven-tentacled aliens on a remote planet in the Xooberon system. Unpleasant, violent, ruthless. Keep themselves to themselves. Trespassers will be executed, that’s what their boundary markers say. And even legitimate negotiators – well, as you can see…” Saboo scratches at the scars.

Dread gnaws at Howard’s stomach. “What was Naboo doing there? He was supposed to be at a council meeting.”

“The satnav on his carpet malfunctioned. Took them to the wrong planet. Little tit was too stoned to notice until they were almost down. Fell off the carpet right in front of a security guard and was arrested on the spot.”

“And B-Bollo?” Vince’s voice is trembling.

“Managed to stay on board, hit the default autopilot and get back to the Council. They sent me to negotiate. I was unsuccessful. Lucky to escape.” Saboo tears at the marks again.

“What can we do?”

Saboo throws Howard a look of despair. “Nothing.”

“But the Shaman Council –”

“Won’t take the risk of aggravating them by sending a second negotiating team. You know how cautious Dennis is. There aren’t enough of us who give a shit about Naboo anyway.” Saboo’s eyes fill with angry tears.

“Where’s Bollo now?” Vince passes the tissue box.

Saboo sniffs, and wipes his eyes. “Dennis is looking after him. He’s in a terrible state. Says he knew the carpet was playing up but couldn’t be bothered to fix it. If the others hadn’t been there, I’d have flayed him on the spot and turned his flea-bitten fur into a bathmat. I still might.”

Howard shudders. “What’ll happen to Naboo?”

“They’ll execute him,” Saboo says bleakly.

“Can’t we rescue him?” Vince asks.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? Hostile planet, hostile aliens, nobody gives a shit… and even the water’s toxic to most other species, you wouldn’t last more than a day.” Saboo heaves a huge sigh. “They say they don’t believe he’s there by accident. They’re going to torture a confession out of him. I – I saw him… couldn’t get to him, but I managed to pick up a signal on my mobile app… look…”

He holds up his phone and presses a button.

‘Welcome to EyeBall, where everything is crystal clear,’ a syrupy female voice declares, accompanied by cheerfully tinkly music.

A crudely rendered glass globe appears on the screen, then dissolves into a blurry circular image.

The music tinkles uncaringly on, as a tiny, black-haired, naked figure writhes in pain in a tank of greenish fluid.

Vince stares in horror for a few seconds, then staggers to his feet, bolts into the kitchen and throws up helplessly into the sink; Howard is rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away.

“They hate bipedals.” Saboo switches the phone off and stuffs it back in his pocket. “Soon as they get bored with torturing him, they’ll use the slightest excuse to terminate him – or worse – and there’s nothing any of us can do…” He swallows hard.

Vince splashes water on his face, and comes shakily back. He leans against the back of the sofa, wide-eyed and pale. “What about Tony?”

“What about him?” Something flickers in Saboo’s eyes. Hope, or regret.

“Well, isn’t he a related species? Couldn’t he talk to them, or… or something?” Vince bites his lip.

Saboo shakes his head. “No way. He looks down on them for having an extra tentacle – the sixes and sevens split off aeons ago and went their separate ways.”

“But it’s gotta be worth a try, yeah?” Vince flicks the wet hair out of his eyes.

“Waste of time. Dennis already asked him, but he won’t risk it. He wouldn’t even stay on Xooberon. He’s just crawled off back to his Belgravia mansion saying it’s nothing to do with him.”

Vince frowns. “There must be a way to persuade him. He must have a weakness – something he wants.”

“He’s a multi-millionaire pink ballsack with twelve houses, a glamorous wife and a jet-setting, interplanetary lifestyle. He’s _got_ everything he wants.” Saboo looks up at Vince. “Everything.”

“Everything?” Vince looks back at Saboo, with a challenge in his expression that Howard doesn’t understand. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Saboo buries his face in his hands again. Vince goes to sit next to him; puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll… make you some tea, shall I?” Howard isn’t sure what else he can do to help.

“Four sugars, please,” Saboo says weakly.

As he fills the kettle and rummages in the cupboard for the sugar, Howard can hear Vince sounding comforting, and feels a warm glow. He loves Vince’s caring side. He’s sure Vince can get Saboo to tell him what they’ve got that Tony Harrison could possibly want…

Some magical artefact in the shop, perhaps? Information in Naboo’s spellbooks?

Then Saboo says “No,” in a voice that sets alarm bells ringing in Howard’s mind.

“No, seeing you together – I can’t, I can’t ask it, not even – oh, little one…” He breaks down and sobs.

“Come on, this is Naboolio we’re talking about, I’ll do whatever it takes. Howard…”

Vince looks up and sees Howard standing there uncertainly, holding the mug of sugary tea.

“What’s going on?” Howard asks.

Vince turns back to Saboo. “How do I find him?”

The shaman delves into a pocket, and hands over a small device with a big green button.

“What?” Howard is horrified. “Vince, where is he taking you?”

“He’s not goin’ anywhere. But I’m goin’ to see the H-Man. He’s our only chance.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No. It’s a one-man transport. You stay here, look after Saboo.”

He scrambles up and comes to stand next to Howard; takes the cup and puts it down on the table.

There is a rumble of thunder in the distance, but Vince doesn’t even blink; his blue eyes are bright and determined.

“Howard… I’m sorry.” He reaches up and kisses Howard fiercely.

The button clicks.

There is a green flash, and Vince is gone.


	23. it was the worst of times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things still look bleak from Naboo's perspective.

_there are some things you can’t escape, even with magic_

_they make you feel a particular kind of despair, a deep hollow ache right through your head and heart_

_this tank_

_and the wire_

_and the crunch_

_the first time you felt that aching void, the rage against the thing you couldn’t change, the cold hard fact of your own limitations…_

_that was your first time_

_your worst time_

_he was old, far older than you could possibly imagine or had ever imagined possible_

_he wanted it_

_you needed it_

_you hated it_

_and they gave you no choice_

_you’d rather have had dennis, he was your swordplay tutor and he seemed harmless (nobody knew about the rabbit, back then)_

_but he didn’t get to be head shaman until a long time afterwards and it seems nobody told him what you were_

_either that or they did, but he forgot_

_he forgets a lot of things, dennis does, you have always wondered why they chose him, maybe nobody else wanted the job, you wouldn’t have taken it but then they would never have offered it you anyway_

_face it, they mostly don’t give a shit about you, saboo is the only one and what can he do on his own?_

_even supposing bollo has managed to make it home_

_oh, bollo_

_wishing he was here won’t do the trick this time_

_this lot know all about neutralising magical abilities and they’ve neutralised every single one of yours_

_doesn’t stop you wishing, all the same_

_your tears merging with the bitter liquid that fills your eyes and mouth_

_you wish…_

_that you’d never taken those pills before you set off_

_that you’d remembered to have the carpet serviced_

_that you hadn’t let your familiar drive (rule 2,496 in the big blue book)_

_that you’d told saboo the truth years ago_

_that you’d been born a different sex_

_that you could run time backwards…_

_but there are some things you can’t escape, even with magic_


	24. The Chronicle of Wasted Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard finds it hard to know how to help Saboo. So he makes tea.

Howard picks up the mug of tea and takes it over to the slumped shaman on the sofa.

“What was that all about?”

Still tearful, Saboo takes the cup, and looks at him over the rim. “I’m sorry too, I didn’t want – ”

“Vince was right. This is Naboo we’re talking about. We… we owe him a lot. We’d do anything. I wish Vince had realised I wouldn’t have tried to stop him.”

“You know what he’s going to try to do, don’t you?”

Howard sighs, and sits down. “Yes.”

“It’s Harrison’s one big weakness. Pretty humans.”

“So you came back here to persuade Vince to…” Howard can’t say it.

Saboo looks away, shamefaced. “We came back together. Tony said it was the only thing that might make him want to get involved. And I was clutching at straws… but when I got up here, I wouldn’t have said anything, if Vince hadn’t worked it out.”

“He won’t… hurt him?” Howard swallows hard.

“No. Not like you’re thinking. Oh, he’s a kinky bastard and completely disgusting, but not… cruel. He won’t torment him and humiliate him, won’t try to break him just because he’s stubborn and helpless and beautiful…”

Saboo rubs frantically at the scars on his jaw; they are bleeding again.

Howard shudders. “Let me get you something for that.”

He half-thinks about looking in Naboo’s cupboard, but he can hear a lisping voice in his head saying ‘Don’t touch my stuff’… and anyway he has no idea what he’d be looking for, and the last thing he needs right now is a magical remedy gone wrong.

Stick to what you know, as his mother used to say.

So he goes to the cabinet in the bathroom and finds cottonwool and the burn salve he got from the all-night chemist, the night Vince fell asleep on his hair straighteners; fills a basin with warm water. Trying not to think about anything except the task in hand. Not to think about Vince and where he’s gone…

The marks go right down Saboo’s neck and onto his chest, a lash from a huge suckered tentacle. Howard has to take the shaman’s jacket and shirt off, peeling the fabric away from the raw skin as carefully as he can.

Saboo winces in pain as Howard applies the lotion.

“Try not to move.” Howard dabs carefully at a particularly angry-looking weal. “I don’t want to make this any worse than it already is.”

“You ought to hate me.”

Howard shakes his head. “I don’t.” And he doesn’t. Imagine if it were Vince’s pale slender body squirming in that tank. And a chance to save him, by asking a friend a favour. Then he thinks of Vince’s pale slender body squirming in the grip of wiry pink tentacles, and before he knows it, he’s dropped the cottonwool and is sobbing helplessly.

A cold hand touches his cheek.

“Don’t,” Saboo whispers. “Don’t. I’m so sorry. Please don’t.”

He slides off the sofa onto the floor beside Howard and pulls him into a hug, holding him through the worst of it. Then he hands him the tissues, with a rueful smile. “Look at us, eh…”

Howard looks at him, the arrogance and pride stripped away, leaving the loneliness plain to see in the shaman’s dark eyes.

He looks a little too long.

“I – I should be going.” Saboo’s voice is hoarse.

“No need. Stay.” Howard blows his nose. “You’ll want to be here when they bring Naboo back. And… you won’t want to be alone if they don’t.”

“They will. I have to believe that – that he’ll come back.”

“We both have to believe they’ll both come back.”

“I hate having to rely on the H-man.” Saboo draws a shaky breath. “I don’t trust that pink tit as far as I could kick him.”

“I thought that was quite a long way, actually.”

They both laugh, a bit tearily; Saboo scrambles back onto the sofa and slumps against the cushions.

Howard picks up the shaman’s clothes from the floor, noticing now that they are still wet from the rain outside.  
“These are soaking… You’d better take the rest off, too, I’ll find you something of mine.”

By the time Howard comes back with a spare pair of pyjamas and a dressing gown, Saboo is stripped to his underpants. They are very small, very black, very well filled…

Saboo looks up, and sees Howard standing in the doorway.

Howard turns away, his face flaming.

“It’s all right.” Saboo crosses the floor in a couple of swift strides, and puts a hand on Howard’s shoulder. “It’s a natural reaction, it doesn’t mean anything…”

Wordlessly, Howard hands over the clothing and goes to hide in the kitchen, making the process of brewing tea last as long as possible.

When at last he emerges, Saboo is decently clad and standing with his face buried in the bunch of roses.

“Erm… tea?” Howard says hesitantly.

“Thank you.” Saboo turns round.

“Beautiful,” Howard stammers, “um, the roses, I mean…”

“They’re enchanted,” Saboo says gravely. “They’ll last as long as Naboo and I do… at least while they’re like this, I know he’s still alive.” He takes the mug of tea from Howard, and heaves a huge sigh. “I promised him I’d never hurt him again, you know. Swore him a solemn shamanic oath, that night I took him out to dinner. Broke my sword and threw it in the river.”

“I wondered why you weren’t wearing it any more.”

“Can’t afford to take the risk. Old habits die hard. And they were very old habits.”

“You’d been together a long time.” Howard sits down on the sofa, cradling his tea in both hands.

“Yes. And I wasted most of it.” Saboo’s voice is bitter. “Fuck, I was such an arrogant prick. Then I get a second chance I totally didn’t deserve, and this has to happen...”

“Don’t beat yourself up, that won’t help anybody. And your tea’s getting cold.”

“You’re right, blast you.” Saboo sprawls at the other end of the sofa. “Let’s be frightfully British about this, shall we? Drink the tea, maintain a stiff upper lip, keep calm and carry on.” He raises his mug in an ironic toast.

“You want some brandy in that?” Howard asks.

“Yeah, why not, Howard, why don’t we just sit here and get pissed while your boyfriend’s on his knees being shagged by an alien ball-sack and mine’s on another planet being executed? Go on, break out the booze, I’m sure it’ll solve everything.”

“I only asked.” Howard gets up and fetches the bottle anyway. He pours a generous measure into his own tea. “It’ll help you sleep, if nothing else.”

Saboo stares at him, as if wondering why Howard isn’t angry. Howard is wondering much the same thing himself. Maybe he’s just too tired.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a long day,” Saboo says quietly, and reaches for the bottle.

 

Sometime in the small hours, having learned more about Naboo’s past history (and about Tony Harrison’s sexual proclivities) than he ever wanted to know, Howard helps Saboo along the corridor to Naboo’s room and staggers wearily to bed himself, crawling in under Vince’s duvet.

But even with his head buried under Vince’s pillow, Howard can still hear the tinkly music of the crystal ball cellphone app, and Saboo crying quietly on the other side of the wall.


	25. bad timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo is wondering why he's still here.

_did they save your life, for this?_

_the tealeaves said they would  
but didn’t tell you what would happen afterwards  
the tealeaves have never been wrong, although sometimes they leave bits out_

_\- have faith in the tea, you were told to stick with them and you did, and you don’t regret it, at least you had a week or so and that has to be better than nothing_

_\- talking to yourself now, eh?_

_\- it’s keeping you sane  
\- you don’t really believe that, do you?  
\- it is, it is keeping you sane, holding on to what little there is left of you…  
\- no, but you don’t really believe that it was better than nothing?  
\- course it was  
\- course it wasn’t, it was worse, much worse, you’d have been better off never knowing what being happy was like, it wouldn’t hurt nearly so bad  
\- don’t think that, he loves you, he’ll come for you, he loves you, he’ll come for you  
\- the fuck he will, if he was going to come for you he’d have come by now  
\- not listening, he loves you, he’ll come for you  
\- perhaps he tried, and failed, perhaps he’s already here and in another tank, you wouldn’t know  
\- don’t think like that, don’t, it’ll drive you mad  
\- what, and you’re not mad already?  
\- you don’t know any more  
\- you’ve never known anything, you’re still wet behind the ears, you never knew what you were getting into, all those years you spent letting him walk all over you and carve you up  
\- and now you’re starting to sound like him_

_you are… you’d give anything to hear his voice in your ear, feel those hands on you, lifting you up, comforting you, taking away the hurt  
everything hurts too much now_

_it’s getting worse, the supply coming in through the tube isn’t enough and your systems are gradually running down  
no energy to move, barely energy to think  
your muscles contract in spasms, making you writhe and shudder in your bonds  
the pain has gone beyond unbearable and you can’t remember what sleeping felt like  
only the warmth of bollo’s fur_

_the guards have been ignoring you for most of the greenish-greyness that passes for daytime here, they’re bored of their plaything, in one way that’s good and in another it’s very, very bad  
you’ve been left hanging and the not-knowing is worse than anything…_

_a light flicks on, blazing, too bright, but not bright enough to hide what’s outside the glass, looking at you with wide, horrified blue eyes_

_\- no, oh no, what the fuck’s this?  
\- told you, hahahaha, told you, he’s not coming, if what you’re seeing is a rescue party then black is white, dennis is celibate and bollo is a monkey genius_

_did they save your life, for this?_


	26. Marking Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saboo and Howard wait for news.

“A _spaceship_?” Howard yells. “Are you _mad_?” 

At the other end of the phone, the Head Shaman clears his throat. “ It was a perfectly workable plan, as set out by my top advisers on the Board.”

“I heard that, Dennis.” Saboo grabs the handset from Howard. “And it’s bollocks. I bet it was Kirk’s idea and you went along with it because you couldn’t think of anything better.”

Howard is still fuming. “They – He – _let Vince pilot a spaceship_?”

“Shut up a minute, Howard, I can’t hear… Dennis, you tool, it’s never going to work. He can’t even drive a car, for fuck’s sake.”

Saboo beckons Howard onto the sofa beside him, tilting the phone so they can both hear Dennis, who is doing his best to sound dignified. “…and the Shamanic Helpline Interplanetary Transport is very simple to operate.”

This statement brings a snort of derision from Saboo. “So is a tin-opener, but that doesn’t mean Vince can actually get a tin open unsupervised.”

“He has expert supervision.”

Saboo laughs harshly. “What, Tony Ballbag Harrison? Even supposing he’s not off his tits on drugs?”

“Tony volunteered for the job, so we weren’t going to refuse him. And Vince _has_ to pilot the craft,” Dennis says stubbornly. “It’s the best rescue vessel we’ve got –”

“It’s the _only_ rescue vessel we’ve got,” Saboo mutters.

“– And Vince has to drive, because Tony can’t reach the pedals.”

It would be funny, Howard thinks. It would be so wettingly funny, if it weren’t so tragically incompetent. And if the lives of two loved ones weren’t being put at risk by it.

He holds out a hand for the phone; forces himself to be calm. Dennis has information. Not necessarily very good information, but anything is better than what Howard’s been imagining over the past twenty-four hours.

“So… Vince asked you to call me, and I do appreciate that you did… um… is he OK?” Howard asks.

“Why would he not be?”

“Well, it’s just… I mean… he’s getting on OK with Tony, is he?”

“They seem to be getting on very well, yes.” Dennis sounds faintly puzzled. “Tony said they made a good team.”

Howard grits his teeth. He’s not sure he wanted to hear that. “Did he say anything else?”

“He said it was an outrage they hadn’t had the rescue craft specially adapted for him. He said he still thought Naboo was a waste of space and Saboo was a ballbag. He said he was only doing this because Vince was very persuasive. Then he said something about having rethought his basic principles but I’m afraid I didn’t catch all of it because I’d shut the airlock in his face and started the launch sequence. Otherwise I think he’d still be talking.”

Saboo takes the phone back again. “So what happens now?”

“They go to the Heptacular homeworld, and we wait and see how they get on.”

“No, I mean, what’s the plan?”

“Erm...”

Howard can practically hear the cogs whirring in Dennis’s mind.

“That was it. Do you think there should have been more?”

“Yes,” Saboo says, very quietly and evenly, “I do fucking well think there should have been more. But since there wasn’t, my advice to you is to piss off before either of us says something we’ll regret. And don’t call back until you’ve got something to report.”

“Oh.” Dennis sounds a bit nonplussed. “All right then. Mr Moon, on behalf of the Board of Shamen I’d like to express our appreciation for your friend’s unselfish actions on behalf of one of our number. I promise you, I will do everything in my power –”

Saboo slams the phone down. “Like _that’s_ going to make any difference.”

He stalks over to the window and stares out at the falling rain.

“So what now?” Howard asks.

Saboo heaves a huge sigh, and turns round. “It’s going to be a long wait. Better put the kettle on again, I suppose.”

 

…

 

It’s a long wait.

 

They get into a sort of routine after a day or two: mostly sitting on the sofa not-watching the TV or not-reading the paper. Occasionally one of them will go to the shop down the road for chocolate biscuits or more teabags; they eat what they want when they’re hungry, which isn’t much and isn’t often, and they wash up the mugs when they’re all dirty, which is about twice a day.

First thing in the morning, whoever wakes first will rush into the lounge to check on the roses. So far there has been no change.

At least that’s something positive.

Howard tries to keep up with the everyday tasks: putting the rubbish in the designated area, dusting, doing the laundry. But it all seems pointless, and when he tries to hoover the carpet Saboo yells that he can’t bear the noise, so after a while Howard just learns to live with the crumbs and let the dust-bunnies multiply undisturbed in all the corners.

After dark, the time drags particularly heavily, and the TV is too loud. They finish the brandy and start on the bottle of whisky Howard was saving for Christmas; sometimes they talk a little, sometimes there are tears, but mostly not.

Both are wound up to breaking point.

One evening, after putting the burn cream on Saboo’s injuries as he does every night (looking the other way and trying to touch as little as possible), Howard feels the tension in the other man’s muscles, rock-hard under his fingertips, and tries to give him a shoulder-rub, like Vince used to do for Howard sometimes; but after only a couple of minutes Saboo tells him curtly to stop.

Howard doesn’t ask why, and doesn’t try it again.

By mutual and unspoken agreement, one or other is within arm’s reach of the phone at all times; they both jump every time it rings.

It rings far too often for comfort.

Wrong numbers; Leroy inviting Vince out for a drink; a pissed-off club owner wondering why Bollo hasn’t shown up for a gig; even a customer wanting to know when the shop will reopen.

And finally a somewhat sheepish Dennis, who reports that the rescue ship has arrived at its destination but that all its communications have now gone offline.

Saboo’s cellphone app stops working at about the same time. They try Naboo’s crystal ball but its security settings can’t be breached, even by another shaman: it refuses to show them anything except old footage of Woodstock.

And after Saboo has thrown it angrily at the wall, it refuses to show them anything at all.

Next time Dennis calls, they ask him whether he knows how to retune it, but he can’t help. And his own crystal ball is broken: after intense and hostile questioning he finally admits that his wife threw it at his head after catching him with a rabbit down his robes.

At the end of that conversation, Saboo slams down the phone and locks himself in the bathroom for three hours.

They hear nothing more from Dennis; the next communication from Xooberon is a brief text message from Kirk to say the rescue party is back and Naboo is alive.

Followed by another one saying that oh yes, Vince is alive too, and they’ll be coming back to Earth as soon as they’re fit to travel.

Then nothing at all for two more soul-destroying days.

Saboo is still sleeping (if he sleeps at all) in Naboo’s bedroom, and Howard in Vince’s bed. On the third night Howard has nightmares about green liquid and wire and Vince’s lifeless body in a coffin full of withered, blackened roses; he wakes screaming, to find Saboo shaking him by the shoulder.

The dream doesn’t return, but in the morning they wake up wrapped around each other. Nobody says anything; they spend the day pretending it didn’t happen.

That evening, they’re sitting on the sofa as usual - at opposite ends, and silent - when there is a banging on the shutters downstairs.

Saboo is on his feet on the instant. “It’s them.”

Together, they race down the stairs; Howard flings the door open, and four somewhat damp figures come in out of the rain.

Bollo is carrying Naboo in his arms; Vince is leaning against him, pale and tired, and Dennis is looming awkwardly in the background trying to look as though he’s in charge.

“Little one…” Saboo has to prop himself against the counter, he is shaking so hard. “Is he – is he all right?”

“Course I’m all right, ya ballbag,” a weak voice says. “Put me down, Bollo… Yeah, I’m fine, Saboo, you tit, you can stop cryin’ now.”

He’s in tears though himself as Saboo hugs him. “Ow, gently, I’ve been a bit… Hey.” He sniffs. “You bin sleepin’ with Howard?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Saboo and Howard say in unison.

Vince looks at Howard, and says nothing.

Dennis can’t take his eyes off Naboo and Saboo; of course, Howard thinks, this is news to him, they’d kept it from everyone before this…

“Where’s Tony?” Howard asks, more because the silence is getting a bit awkward than because he really wants to know.

“Cementing diplomatic relations with the Heptaculars,” Dennis says, shaking his head meaningfully at Saboo.

“Don’t ask,” Bollo grunts at the same time. Howard sees understanding dawn on Saboo’s face; he’s still wondering what that means, when Naboo’s legs crumple beneath him and he falls over.

Saboo and Bollo catch him before he hits the floor, and take him away up the stairs.

Vince is still looking silently at Howard, as though trying to work out who he is.

“Umm, well, that’s that then,” Dennis says. “I’ll, umm, leave you in peace, shall I? I’ll come back with a full report tomorrow. Or maybe the day after.”

He wanders out into the falling rain; Howard locks the door behind him, and turns to Vince. “Good to have you home again, little man... Vince?”

Vince is still standing in the middle of the shop floor, swaying slightly on his feet.

He looks at Howard, and says nothing.


	27. time and time again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo wakes up in his own bed, and things start getting better.

_\- hey bollo_  
\- hey naboo, did bollo wake you?  
\- no, ’salright, i wasn’t asleep… come on in, you don’t have to stand in the doorway  
\- how you doin’ today?  
\- ok  
\- you feel cooler... sleep well last night?  
\- yeah… well, not that well actually, but probably better than you though  
\- you right there, broom cupboard not very comfortable habitat for gorilla  
\- sorry about that  
\- not your fault, bollo in disgrace, bollo lucky to be allowed to stay here at all  
\- don’t say that  
\- why not? is true  
\- you could sleep on the sofa instead  
\- bollo try that, saboo and howard say no way, not until bollo’s fur stop falling out all over cushions, they no like gorilla dandruff in the tea… hey, you want some tea before you get up?  
\- that’d be great, cheers  
\- you, um, you want bollo to… bollo suppose saboo already checked you over this morning before going to paper shop?  
\- well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it too  
\- thanks naboo, bollo need to know you ok, then perhaps bollo’s hair will start to grow back too 

_a regular health check on the associated shaman is part of the familiar’s job description, but it’s a lot more than that at the moment_

_you lie back under bollo’s comforting hands and enjoy feeling safe and cared for and comfortable_

_and dry_

_and the fact that nobody is shouting_

_there’s been a lot of shouting since you came home, starting with saboo shouting at bollo_

_you understood why he was angry, it was sort of bollo’s fault the carpet went wrong and you landed where you did_

_although you had to admit that if you’d been even slightly less off your face, it would have helped_

_you shouted back at them both that first night, when they were arguing over who should take care of you, you told them to go right ahead and cut you in half if that was what it’d take to shut them up and let you sleep_

_howard banged on the wall and shouted that you were keeping vince awake and then vince shouted at howard to shut the fuck up_

_bollo stormed off to sleep (or not) in the cupboard and there was uneasy silence for the rest of the night_

_next morning you yelled until your throat was raw when saboo said you should dissociate from your familiar, that was never part of the deal_

_you turned your back until you’d made both of them promise they would never make you choose between them_

_yes, it might have been bollo’s fault but he can’t help being who he is and you would never consider upgrading or replacing him, especially after what he had to do for you in those hideous few days after the rescue, before you were strong enough to come home_

_saboo was angry with you too, more out of relief than anything, he shouted at you and you shouted back and when you’d finished fighting he cried a lot and it cut you to the heart, you’d never thought you’d see tears from him_

_then he offered you a hot bath and you totally lost it, screaming and shaking all over, you can’t bear the thought of being immersed, you haven’t even been able to get in the shower yet_

_howard came running in, all ready to defend you again, and tore saboo off a strip because he'd upset you and now vince was hiding under the bed, and then he went running back to check whether vince was ok although you could have told him the answer was no..._

_you thought bollo was going to kill saboo when he realised what the matter was (and when a gorilla shouts, it's seriously loud)_

_but you held them to their promise and an uneasy truce was declared_

_since then they’ve been combining forces to look after you, and every night saboo has been there for you, sleeping at a safe distance from you in the big bed, ready to wake you and comfort you when the nightmares come, and fetch bollo if you need him_

_you still can’t really let saboo touch you yet, but it’s only a matter of time_

_bollo grunts approval as he pulls the covers back over you_

_\- you much better now, that arm almost healed_

_\- it doesn’t hurt any more_

_\- you an’ saboo stopped fighting?_

_\- yeah, for the time being anyway_

_\- and howard and vince?_

_you don’t reply_

_he nods - bollo worried about them, too_


	28. There Was a Time when I Stood Tall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard is having a really miserable time. Help is on its way from an unexpected source.

Howard lies flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, much as he’s been doing all night.

Again. 

Across the room in the other bed, Vince is sleeping, or at any rate pretending to sleep, the duvet pulled right up over his head as though to shut out the world.

The bedroom door’s been left ajar – Vince can’t bear to be shut in at night – and Howard can hear a clinking of mugs in the kitchen. The kettle boils; the fridge opens and shuts. Bollo is making tea, and humming the bassline from ‘Cars’. Naboo must be feeling a bit better this morning, then.

The street door slams, and footsteps come up the creaky stairs, two at a time.

“Morning Bollo.”

“Morning, Saboo. Kettle just boiled, you want tea?”

“Yeah, thanks. Two sugars. Is Naboo awake?”

“Bollo didn’t wake him.”

“I never said you did. But he’s awake, yes?”

“Yes. Bollo about to take him cup of tea. You better take it instead.”

“No, you’re alright, you carry on. I’ll just sit here and read the papers for a while… No, now listen, you furry fleabag, there are limits, and being hugged by you is well beyond them. Save it for Naboo…”

Well, that’s a big improvement on all fronts, Howard thinks, as Naboo’s bedroom door creaks shut.

He can hear the low rumble of Bollo’s voice through the wall.

If only Vince would let Howard talk to him like that… or even at all…

Howard sighs.

He’s tried so hard, dammit.

That first night back, he’d been all set to forget about sex and aliens and spaceships and all the doubt and worry, in the simple joy of just being able to pull Vince into his arms and hold him again.

But something in Vince’s eyes stopped him, left him standing half-way across the space between them, arms half-outstretched.

He told himself Vince was just exhausted.

He told himself Vince was probably sore, or space-sick, or having a bad hair day. Or possibly all three.

He told himself to give the little man time. And space.

But fuck it all, how much time and space does he need?

Howard misses him more than he thought possible. Almost more than he did when he wasn’t there.

It’s torture, being in the same room as Vince but not allowed to touch him.

And Vince is so oddly quiet. All those times when Howard ignored him, told him to shut up, wanted to be free of the sound of his voice… he would give anything to have those times back again, to have Vince chattering on like he used to do.

There are times when Howard can’t help but ask questions: whether Vince is hurt anywhere, whether there’s anything Howard can do. All Vince will say is “Leave it, Howard, I’m OK.”

But he’s not OK, and they both know he’s not.

He won’t tell Howard anything about what happened – not at Tony’s, not on the alien planet, not on the voyage home – and Howard is desperately hurt that Vince turns to Bollo, on the rare occasions when he turns to anybody, for comfort and hugs.

Sometimes Howard can hear him talking quietly with Naboo as he combs what’s left of the little shaman’s hair – a task he will entrust to nobody else – but they always stop when Howard enters the room.

It’s driving Howard mad, imagining Vince in bed with Harrison; Vince trying desperately to control a space capsule; Vince looking after Naboo. Vince was so brave, going off to do all these things on his own. But now he seems to have forgotten that he’s not on his own any more; forgotten how to let Howard help him…

Howard’s beginning to be afraid that Vince thinks Howard won’t want him, after the H-Man, and is shutting himself off from the risk of rejection. After all, that’s what Howard would do if their situations were reversed. But when Howard’s tried to reassure Vince of his – well, physical feelings, it only seems to have made things worse.

And there is a little nagging voice of doubt in Howard’s mind, whispering that perhaps it’s _Vince_ who doesn’t want _him_.

More or less every night, Vince has horrible nightmares, moaning and whimpering under his protective layer of bedclothes, but he won’t tell Howard what the dreams are, or let him comfort him.

Saboo has his hands full looking after Naboo, and Howard doesn’t want to bother him; Bollo is similarly preoccupied, and anyway it would feel weird and wrong discussing such private troubles with a gorilla who still barely acknowledges Howard’s presence most of the time. Although at least he doesn’t call him ‘Harold’ any more.

And Dennis, true to form, has been pretty much useless. Despite his promise of a full report, he didn’t actually come back until yesterday, and then only to tell them that Tony Harrison had returned from the Heptacular homeworld and the diplomatic incident had been declared officially closed.

That did seem to make Vince feel a bit better – he almost smiled, and his hunched shoulders relaxed just a little.

It didn’t make Howard feel any better at all. What possible reason could Vince have for having been worried about that pink ballbag, of all people? (If he even is a person, which Howard seriously doubts.)

Dennis made some vague reference to Mr Harrison and the Heptacular Representative having realised they were the same species after all; Naboo muttered that it was much more likely to have been Mr Harrison and the Heptacular Representative shagging each other senseless. But he was careful not to let Dennis hear.

When Dennis had gone, and Saboo and Bollo were administering Naboo’s next lot of drugs, Howard tried to get Vince to talk – told Vince how much he’d missed him, how much he still wanted him – telling it straight, in so many words, in a final, desperate attempt to clear the air.

“I can’t even think about all that, Howard,” Vince had said, quietly and evenly, his voice giving no clue as to what he might be feeling.

And that was that. Not even enough feedback to build up into a decent fight that might have broken down Vince’s defences; just withdrawal behind a wall of silence.

A real wall would be preferable. At least Howard would be able to bang his head on it, and knock himself out.

Vince stirs and mumbles something; Howard sits up, instantly alert. “You OK, little man?”

“Fine.” Vince emerges from his cocoon of blankets, pushing his tousled hair out of his dark-ringed eyes. “I’m goin’ for a shower.”

He scrambles out of bed, grabs a dressing gown and is gone.

Howard slumps back on his pillows. He can’t even cry any more. The box in his head, patched and mended after Vince came home, isn’t big enough now to contain all the memories, the ones that hurt the most.

The happy ones.

Vince snuggling into Howard’s side on the way back from the pub, Vince with a wicked grin on his face and a jar of Nutella in his hand, Vince in the shower…

He’ll be in the shower now.

The silk kimono, the Stones T-shirt and the little blue pants will be in a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor, and Vince will be naked under the steaming water, his black hair plastered flat to his head.

He’ll do his hair first, he always does: squeezing a carefully calculated dose of some ludicrously expensive and over-scented salon shampoo out of one of the row of bottles on the windowsill, massaging it into a creamy lather over his scalp, taking his time, making sure the product’s got to every single last hair.

There’ll be a trail of bubbles running down from the nape of his neck, down his back, sliding between those pale, perfectly rounded buttocks and on down the backs of his thighs...

He’ll rinse his clean hair thoroughly, carefully, running the strands between his fingers to hear the squeak that means all the soap’s gone.

Then he’ll do the whole thing over again, just as methodically, before giving his shining, dripping locks a dose of the coconut conditioner he’s been lending to Naboo, making them both smell disconcertingly alike, and then he’ll rinse and rinse again until all the bubbles have slid all the way down to his toes and trickled away down the plughole.

Perhaps he’s reaching for that fruit-flavoured bodywash now, the squeezy bottle that used to make him giggle uncontrollably whenever its one-way valve made a rude farting noise. But today his face is serious, he just wants to be clean, he doesn’t want to be reminded that he ever shared this shower cubicle with anyone else.

He’s rubbing the bubbly stuff under his arms, across the dark hair on his chest, over his neat pink nipples, which are standing to attention under the caress of the hot water. One hand washes down his belly, and into his groin, riffling through his curly black pubes with a faint scratchy sound that is one of Howard’s favourite noises in the whole world.

The other hand cups his wet balls, rubbing gently, just enough to get them clean; reaches behind them, sliding over that furry ridge where Vince’s personal perfume is the most fragrant and delicious of all.

He washes himself _there_ twice, once from the front and then again from the back; wet fingers gliding over the slippery, wrinkled skin.

Perhaps he’ll push a fingertip inside, just to see whether he’s still sore.

Or perhaps not.

Soon he’ll be out of the shower and towelling himself dry, goosebumps rising on his upper arms, soft white cock swinging gently amid its fluffed-up, damp thicket of curls.

Howard writhes in torment on the bed, imagining what it would be like, to kneel on the soggy bathmat and put his arms around Vince and pull him close; to bury his face in that warm, strawberry-smelling fur, tease that silky-smooth shaft to hot, twitching hardness, and take it into his mouth…

He didn’t touch himself all the time Vince was away, and he hasn’t since Vince has been home, either; it just didn’t feel right. But now, suddenly, he’s desperately aroused, his prick iron-hard and aching.

Lying there alone, eyes shut, with vivid images of wet and naked Vince dancing behind his eyelids, Howard begins to work himself, hard and fast and carelessly, almost welcoming the twinges as he jerks too hard at his still-tight foreskin, the stinging as his fingers catch on the dry, sensitive skin of his cockhead.

It shouldn’t be taking this long. It shouldn’t be… oh, sod it. Howard bites his lip in frustration, drawing blood. He’s not going to get there. His balls are tight and full, his erection throbbing, he needs release more than he ever has, but he just can’t push himself over the edge, no matter how hard he tries.

He sits up and bows his head to his knees, his throat constricted and his whole body ready to implode from the tension.

 _Fuck_ it.

The initial friction of his right hand around his left wrist feels good, a slow burning of dry skin on dry skin. Howard squeezes just tight enough to make the small bones crunch together, gradually increasing the pressure until it’s definitely painful; twisting his left arm against the grip.

After years of practice, he gives a good Chinese burn. That’ll already have left a mark.

Curling the fingers of his right hand makes his nails dig in. Worse than usual, but then he hasn’t cut them this week, he’s been too preoccupied.

Or maybe he knew deep down that it would come to this.

The burn is sharp now, clean and satisfying, so much better than the guilty throbbing in his groin, and the dull pain in his chest that has been there ever since Vince’s return.

He curls his fingers a bit tighter; rotates his wrist slowly, one way and then the other, huffing out an angry sigh as the skin finally tears and the warm wetness of blood begins to spread.

But it’s still not enough to blank out the hurt. He doesn’t want to feel all those complicated emotions, all the frustration. He just wants simple pain, that can be fixed with a simple dressing and a simple dose of painkillers afterwards.

A small, selfish part of him doesn’t care if Vince comes back from the shower and finds him like this: sees what Howard’s going through. Maybe that’ll get the message across.

Oh, Vince…

Before he even realises he was going to, Howard has lifted his joined hands up to his face, and sunk his teeth into the back of his bruised, bloodied wrist.

Fucking hell, that feels good. He rakes the edges of his incisors across the soreness, growling and whimpering like a trapped and furious animal, worrying at the tender skin, tasting the salt of sweat and tears and the metallic tang of blood.

Feels good. But it’s not enough, not enough, not enough…

“ _ **Enough**_.”

The single word, spoken with commanding power, renders Howard suddenly still.

Strong, cool hands grasp his wrists and pull them gently apart.

“I know things are bad, Howard,” a quiet voice says, “but just how is chewin’ your own arm off supposed to help?”


	29. time is out of joint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo gives Howard some useful advice.

_you heard howard through the wall, the small broken sounds he didn’t even know he was making_

_and you felt it too, your newly restored shaman-senses picking up a sharp peak of distress, and you kicked yourself because you realised it’s been a constant background signal since you got home but you hadn’t tuned in to it through all the other hurt that’s been going on_

_bollo was worried but knew better than to try to hold you back_

_you’re worried too but can’t afford to show it_

_at least your command-voice worked, you weren’t expecting it to_

_\- fuck off, howard snarls, looking at the wall_

_you summon all your remaining resources and try to stay calm_

_\- i’m not goin’ anywhere, you need help_

_\- no, i fucking well don’t, not from you, not from anybody -_

_he struggles, but you hold firm around his wrists, you must be stronger than you thought_

_\- howard, i’m tellin’ you, you need me to help you with this, an’ i’m gonna fuckin’ well sit here until you let me_

_he looks at you with empty eyes - you can’t help me_

_\- can too, an’ will -_

_perhaps if you say it with enough conviction, you’ll believe it too_

_\- you shouldn’t even be doing magic, you’re not strong enough yet_

_\- let me be the judge of that, one word of power an’ a bit of first aid ain’t goin’ to finish me off, i’m naboo, that’s who -_

_yeah, that sounds pretty convincing actually, even to you_

_\- now listen, i’m gonna sort you out an’ meanwhile you can tell me what the fuck’s goin’ on here -_

_you let go of him and reach for a tissue; start to wipe the saliva and blood away_

_(keep talking, focus on doing what has to be done, it worked for vince, it’ll work for you)_

_\- ’m sorry, been a bit out of it, me ’n’ saboo are workin’ things out an’ I thought you two were as well_

_he shakes his head like an animal in pain - it’s driving me mad, he won’t talk to me_

_most of the bleeding’s stopped; you unfold another tissue, to dry up the marks that are still seeping - hurting yourself ain’t gonna help him, or you_

_\- I know - he winces as you catch the raw flesh - but I had to, sometimes I just **have** to…_

_you know that sort of frustration, you’ve been there, there’s a scar across your palm to prove it_

_\- give him time - you put his hand down, gently, and go to fetch the numbing ointment off the table - he knows you love him, he just feels… there are things… he can’t talk to you about, he thinks you won’t want to hear them_

_howard says savagely - he talks to you_

_\- yeah, so? you talked to me when he left home, if you think about it, an’ for the same reasons… it’s easier to talk to someone who ain’t directly involved, sometimes_

_you sit down again and smear the cream over the swollen, broken skin, crescent-marked by sharp fingernails and already showing the curved lines of bruising where he bit deep, trying to get to the source of the hurt and rip it out_

_he sighs deeply and lowers his head to his knees - I know he had to do it, I don’t want the details, I just want him to stop shutting me out because he’s feeling guilty -_

_\- about sleeping with the h-man? - you turn his hand over and start work on the inside of his wrist, concentrating on what **he’s** feeling, rather than on what **you** are - I don’t think that’s what’s eating him_

_you shouldn’t have said that last bit, he seizes on it like a drowning man grabs a lifeline, and you know he’s not going to let go_

_\- then what **is**? naboo, what’s wrong with vince?_

_the anguish in his voice tears at the very core of you_

_you really don’t want to lie to him but you can’t tell him all of it_

_in fact you can’t really tell him **any** of it_

_you take your time putting the lid back on the jar and putting the jar back on the table, calming your breathing, choosing your words with care_

_\- well, he hasn’t exactly said - (liar, liar, he didn’t need to exactly say, you saw his face when you materialised on the ship) - he mostly talks about you and how he can’t talk to you, maybe he’s feelin’ a bit like you did before you took that potion, remember?_

_howard sniffs miserably - that seems a long time ago now… and afterwards we were so happy…_

_his face screws up in a ridiculous grimace and a deep, harsh sob shakes him, then another_

_you hate yourself for knowing you could distract him with his memories of the happy times_

_self-defence is often necessary but it isn’t always ethical_

_oh, howard…_

_you’ve put your arms round him without even thinking about it, and it doesn’t feel bad, it feels right, like coming home, and you know that tonight you’ll be able to close the gap between you and saboo in the bed, but right now that just makes you feel more guilty_

_the tears are pouring out of him, he’s been saving them up for days, your robe’s already soaking where he’s buried his face in your shoulder_

_you hand him a tissue - stop it, it’s bad enough having saboo crying all over me without you starting - but you don’t let go_

_he blows his nose, and you stroke his hair_

_\- thanks, howard… thanks for taking care of saboo_

_he blushes, and says shakily - we didn’t…_

_\- i know, he told me, thanks for that too_

_\- but i think vince thinks we did…_

_now that is something you can definitely tell him the truth about_

_\- no, he doesn’t, i told him, an’ i don’t think **that’s** what’s eating him either_

_he looks up at you with unbearable hope, and you have an idea - listen, howard, why don’t you go and talk to tony?_

_his face screws up - that pink monstrosity? i can’t, not after what he and vince…_

_\- but he might be able to shed some light, yeah? if i know him - and so help you, you **do** know him, all too well - he’ll happily tell you what they got up to, an’ maybe it was nothin’ at all, p’raps vince just talked him into rescuin’ me anyway -_

_(oh, yeah, an’ p’raps Earth pigs can fly without magical assistance an’ all)_

_\- an’ about the rescue, he’s probably got a better idea of what went on down there than i do, i was ravin’ an’ out of it by the time they arrived, but one thing i do know an’ that’s that dennis’s story don’t add up, i met the heptaculars and they are not diplomats…_

_howard is looking a bit more hopeful - it might be worth a try, then_

_\- think it might, yeah_

_\- how do i find him?_

_you pull your wallet out of an inner pocket, and riffle through until you find tony’s business card, lurid shiny pink and hexagonal - here you go_

_\- he straightens his shoulders in his best man-of-action way - any advice?_

_\- yeah, be nice to his wife, but whatever you do, don’t drink the tea she makes_

_\- why, is it poisoned or something?_

_\- no, but it’s even worse than the stuff that used to come out of that old vending machine at the zoo…_

_it’s good to see him smile, although you know you don’t deserve it when he thanks you, kisses you chastely on the cheek and takes you back to bollo_


	30. Time to Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard pays a visit to Tony Harrison.

Howard stands on the doorstep of the Harrisons’ huge and tasteless mock-Georgian mansion, trying to make himself ring the bell.

He was still buttoning his long-sleeved shirt carefully over his wrists when Saboo came in and handed him the transport amulet he’d given to Vince.

“This’ll be a bit quicker than the bus, I think you’ll find. Tell Tony thanks from me. And Howard…”

“Don’t drink the tea?”

Saboo flashed him a brilliant smile. “Exactly.”

Howard shifts his feet nervously, and pulls his cuffs straight. Despite Naboo’s efforts, Howard’s left hand still aches and throbs, and the cuff doesn’t cover all of the bruising, although at least it doesn’t look too much like toothmarks, now.

He raises his right index finger to the shiny pink ‘RING’ button in its polished brass housing.

It took him a while to pluck up courage to press the green transport button, after carefully avoiding Vince, passing him in the corridor and not looking at him on the way to the bathroom.

Howard’s used a shamanic transport before, but he doesn’t remember it causing quite such an unpleasant sensation; his stomach’s still churning and he’s glad he decided this was more important than breakfast.

He swallows hard, and presses the bell.

It doesn’t appear to make a noise.

Howard waits, and counts to ten.

Nobody home. Fine. He rummages in his pocket for the transport thingy. Well, at least he tried.

The door opens, and a light, slightly nasal voice says “Hello, can I help you?”

A young lady is standing in the doorway: a plump, pretty blonde in high heels and a leopard-print minidress that Vince would thoroughly have approved of. Although Vince doesn’t quite have the cleavage to carry it off… Howard blushes, and stammers, “Erm, well, I don’t know, I mean, are you Mrs Harrison, erm, is this Tony Harrison’s house, is he in, can I talk to him?”

She smiles, showing perfect white teeth, and gives a tinkly little laugh. “Course I am, and course it is, and course he is, and course you can. Come on in.”

Howard remembers his manners, and holds out a hand. “Howard Moon.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr Moon.” She beckons him in, and shuts the door behind him. “Now, where’ve I heard that name… Oh, I know, are you a friend of that sweet young man who was here last week? The space pilot?”

“Vince, you mean?”

“Vince! Yes, that was it. Blue eyes just like my Tony’s, and such lovely hair, we had such a nice chat about conditioning products and stack heels, I can’t really talk to my hubby about those… Tony? Tooo-nyyy! Where are ya, sweetheart? We gotta visitor!”

Harrison’s voice echoes faintly in the cavernous, plush-carpeted hall. “I’m in the pink drawingroom, angelcakes. Show ’im in.”

Mrs Harrison leads Howard into a huge drawing room, brightly lit and hung with ceiling-high rococo mirrors that reflect disturbing multiples of the pink alien sitting on the gilt-framed silk chaise-longue by the fireplace.

A tentacle is raised in greeting. “Howard Moon, good to see you, had a feeling you might show up.”

Howard clears his throat and plunges straight in. “Tony, I need to know what…”

“Long story, my son. Come and sit down, you look done in.”

“Tea?” Mrs Harrison asks, as she helps Howard into an enormous, over-stuffed leather armchair.

Howard settles himself cautiously on the squeaky cushions. “No thanks, I’m fine.”

“Just the one, then, darlin’.” Tony blows his wife a kiss, and she teeters off on her high heels.

“Gorgeous, ain’t she?”  
“Erm, yes, yes she is… um… a very nice young lady… er… I didn’t catch her name?”

Tony looks puzzled. “She’s Mrs Harrison.”

“Well, yes, I’d gathered that, I meant her first name.”

“She don’t have one no more. I stopped usin’ it after the first iteration, you know, out of respect an’ that. She’s Mrs Harrison, that’s who she is, an’ she’s one in a million, let me tell you.”

“Ummm… iteration?”

“Yeah. She’s a clone – one in a million, literally – we’ve got a private cryostorage facility off-planet and each clone reprograms itself as her own sister and goes to live in Bournemouth at equivalent age fifty.”

“But doesn’t she already have a sister in Bournemouth?”

“By the time she gets there, her previous sister’s shut ’erself down and dematerialised at equivalent age seventy-nine.”

“You mean she just self-destructs?”

“Yeah. Genius, ain’t it? An’ meanwhile, the previous Mrs Harrison’s bin replaced by another at equivalent age twenty-one, we just slot in the memory card an’ away we go, ready to do the best years all over again. I’ll never find another one like my missus. But then I don’t need to, do I?”

Howard’s head is still spinning from this revelation when Mrs Harrison reappears, bringing tea for Tony.

Tony’s as pleased to see her as though they’ve been apart for weeks, and it seems as though she’ll never go; Howard is ready to chew his own arm off all over again as the two of them bill and coo, until finally he dismisses her with a slap on her pert rear that makes her giggle and blush.

Still grinning, Tony raises his teacup. “OK then, to business. You wanted to ask me something. Let me guess… about Vince and how our little business agreement turned out, yeah?”

Howard nods.

“Well, I s’pose you of all people deserve the truth… To put it bluntly, I shagged him. Yeah. I’m not one to turn down an offer like that. But it wasn’t what I was expecting.”

He looks up, and it strikes Howard suddenly that Tony and Vince are weirdly similar; it’s the eyes…

“Your Vince – ”

“He’s not mine, sir.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find that he is.” Tony grins conspiratorially. “He has that effect on people.”

“What effect?”

“Brings out the best in ’em. Even me.” Tony puts the teacup down on the ornate marble table next to the couch; caresses the handle thoughtfully with a tentacle-tip. “He lay there all white and shivering, like a scared li’l rabbit, eyes shut, an’ said ‘you know and I know I’m doing this for Naboo, not you, so get on with it.’ And I … ordinarily, well, I’m just a ballbag, I live for me own selfish pleasures, and I’m very selfish, and they’re a lot of pleasure. But I couldn’t just take what I wanted from him, couldn’t just slick ’im and stretch ’im and plunge meself in…”

Howard shudders. “You… you didn’t… hurt him?”

“No.” Tony looks up from his examination of the teacup, his eyes suddenly as wide and guileless as Vince’s. “Y’see, somethin’ about him reminded me of me, when I was just a squidling in the warm golden seas of Hexaplon, before me bits was even barbed, an’ I wanted… to make it good for him. Yeah, I know, surprised me too, but I was all gentle and soft and I did, I did make it good for him, he got off on it. Might have been kinder if I’d just had me way, when all’s said and done, cos I expect he feels guilty now, dunnee? He’s had the pleasure of me multi-hexagonal bits up inside of him, an’ me tentacules runnin’ over that pretty soft skin, an’ a mind-blowin’ multiple climax… an’ we woke up in the mornin’ all twined together in a complicated geometry of passion… ”

“That’s enough,” Howard says hoarsely. He can picture that scene, all too clearly, and it turns his stomach even more than the transport device. Although it’s not nearly as bad as some of the things he’s been imagining, during those sleepless nights.

“Fair do’s. But you did ask. An’ now you know.”

“I appreciate your honesty. But actually, Tony, that isn’t what I wanted to ask you about.”

“Oh.” Harrison frowns.

“No, I… Did something happen to Vince while you were on your rescue mission? Something bad?”

“Why, what’s he said?”

“Nothing. That’s just it.” To his shame, Howard can feel his throat closing up with tears again. “He won’t tell me anything.”

“Pour us some more tea, would ya? Cheers.” Tony settles himself more comfortably. “Well, it can’t have been easy for ’im, seein’ the littlun in that state. Not surprisin’ ’e don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Can _you_ … talk about it? It would help, if I knew what actually happened up there. Or down there.”

The alien is silent for a few moments, his blue eyes boring into Howard as though sizing him up.

“This is between ourselves, right? Off the record? Confidential?”

“Of course.”

“It’s just that, well, as you might have gathered, I didn’t exactly give Dennis the full story, an’ I don’t want there to be any… consequences with the Board.”

“There won’t be. I promise you, I have no interest in getting you in trouble with the other shamen, I just want to know what happened to Vince. He needs help. And if you really – you know – felt anything that night…”

“Stop right there. My feelin’s ain’t up for discussion.” Tony’s expression is serious. “But you’re right that Vincey needs ’elp… Alright then, this is the unofficial version, wot also happens to be true. Make yerself comfortable there, it’s gonna be a long story...”

...

“We made a good team.”

Tony catches Howard’s eye, and grins. “Yeah, I know, we’re an unlikely combination, but I’d sworn ’im my solemn shamanic oath to do my best to rescue Naboo, an’ Vince’d… well, proved ’is commitment, as you know.”

Howard looks away from those knowing blue eyes. “I don’t want to hear any more about that.”

“Well, that’s good, because I’m not goin’ to talk any more about that. Vince may not be the brightest lamp in the street, but I tell you what, he’s a sight easier to work with than that up-himself Saboo. A shaman gets tired of bein’ called a ballsack an’ a cleft all the time.” Tony dips a tentacle in his remaining tea. “Cold. Never mind… Well, you know the next bit.”

“The Shaman Council gave you a ship, and you went to the alien planet.”

“Yup. Vince flew pilot, an’ did a surprisingly good job, considerin’.”

“But Dennis didn’t seem to have a plan for what should happen when you got there, and then we heard you’d arrived, but then nothing.” Howard clenches his fists. “It was maddening.”

Tony grins. “The D-Man might not’ve ’ad a plan, but you’d reckoned without the native ingenuity of the H-Man. ’Fraid the maddenin’ part was my fault – I knocked out the ship’s long-range comm systems as soon as we got there, so I wouldn’t have the Board findin’ out stuff I’d rather they didn’t, if you get my drift. Cos I already had a plan, better than anythin’ that bunch of losers had come up with, but it could cost me me reputation as an interplanetary sexual athlete an’ it might not even work.”

“And the plan was…?”

“All in good time. This is my story, an’ I’ll tell it in me own maddenin’ way.” Tony winks at Howard, who somehow suppresses the urge to hit him over the head with his own floral teapot. “I teleported in, an’ of course those seven-way deviants arrested me on the spot, but I exercised me tentacular rights an’ got an audience with the Representative for External Affairs, blimey, right fat ugly cow she was, snot-green an’ three times my size, an’ argumentative to boot.”

“A suggestion was made by the Head Shaman,” Howard says tentatively, “that you and she… umm… came to another business arrangement…”

“Like I said, I ’ave a reputation to keep up. An’ she was guiltily smitten at first sight of yours truly, which helped. It helped a lot. Kinky bitch. I led ’er along a bit, did some smooth signalling” – Tony bats his eyelashes, and wiggles his appendages suggestively – “an’ before things went any further, I got her to show me that our Naboolio was still… well, they called it ‘undamaged’ but that was stretchin’ the truth a bit… How’s he doin’, by the way?”

“He’s mending. There’s some way to go yet, but he’s in good hands, he’s got Bollo and Saboo to look after him and Vince to do his hair…”

“Good to hear it. He was in a bad way when they took me to the holdin’ area. Nothin’ much left of ’im but skin an’ bone, poor little sod. Never thought I’d feel sorry for Naboo…”

Howard’s heart twists. He can imagine that scene all too well, too. He recalls holding the little shaman in his arms, light and fragile as a bird… With an effort, he tunes in to Tony’s voice again.

“… there was nothin’ else I could’ve offered that they might’ve wanted, poetic justice as you might say… so I just went ahead an’ did the deal without bringin’ Vince into it.”

“You mean, you offered yourself in exchange?”

“Yeah, I know, it surprises me too. I’d made Vince a promise, but seein’ that mound of wobblin’ green flesh I wasn’t sure I’d be able to go through with it, until I was standin’ there lookin’ through the glass of that tank.” Tony shakes his head, nearly falling off his couch in the process. “When Naboo looked up, an’ recognized me… I’d signalled ‘yes’ before I’d even thought about it. An’ thankfully she took it at face value, waved to the guards an’ had Naboo unplugged an’ teleported back to the ship.”

“And Vince had to fly it back on his own?”

“The H-Man had that covered. Necessary, given Vince’s driving skills. I’d done a bit of tinkerin’ with a few circuits en route, an’ the capsule was already auto-programmed to get back to Xooberon the minute it detected that two sentient life-forms were aboard. That was the dodgiest part of the whole plan – ropey old crate, that thing is – but it must’ve worked, or you wouldn’t be ’ere.”

Howard shakes his head in confusion. “But… But Dennis knew you’d made an exchange. He was trying to tell Saboo that, the night they brought Naboo home. Bollo knew, too, but they didn’t want to talk about it in front of Naboo. So why all the secrecy?”

Tony shrugs. “Well, of course he knew I’d bin left behind, they could hardly fail to notice my absence. The Representative let me send an official communication to the Council to say I was OK an’ doin’ diplomatic negotiations, which I ’oped would cement my reputation as a selfless ’ero, an’ also stop Vince worryin’ too much… but who knows what else goes on in that empty space between Dennis’s ears? He probably just didn’t want the little guy to feel bad that I’d been held in his place. Wouldn’t have helped his recovery, thinkin’ of someone else stuck on that filthy planet with those mutant asymmetricals.”

“So what happened to you after they got away? And how did you get home?”

“Ah, well, this is the part that’s strictly between you and me.” Tony leans forward, conspiratorially. “The official story is that the Representative an’ me struck up such a ‘successful diplomatic relationship’ that she agreed to give me whatever I wanted, includin’ my release an’ a transport device, so I could come back to Earth all heroic twice over, both for savin’ Naboo an’ for my non-violent conquest of an enemy alien species. An’ I knew that anybody who knew me would assume I’d given the Representative such mindblowing, non-stop sex that she’d agreed to me terms while in a blissful haze of post-coital exhaustion and ecstasy. So I’d be an ’ero all over again.”

“But… that isn’t actually what happened?”

“No, not exactly.” Tony sighs. “This is deeply embarrassin’ for someone of my prowess an’ sexual reputation, so I’ll thank you not to go repeatin’ it.”

“Your secret is safe with me, sir.”

“It better had be. Cause I’ll come after you an’ cut your ’ead off an’ fuck your stump into the middle of next week if you ever tell anyone this. That… _thing_ … took me to her private swamp in the diplomatic quarter for a night of passion, an’ I was all prepared to shag ’er brains out, once I’d figured out how many she had an’ where they were… but she took one look at me awesome multi-hexagonal alien penis an’…”

“Fainted?” Howard suggests.

“No. Much worse. I’m blushin’ now, not that it shows. It’s never happened to the H-Man before, but…” Tony’s voice drops to a whisper. “She was _disappointed_.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yeah. So disappointed that she totally lost it, threw a wobbly you could ’ear for miles around, we were discovered in flagrante tentaculo, summarily convicted of sexual deviancy and both sent to the correction facility.”

“You mean – they put you in one of those tanks?”

“Don’t look so ’orrified, it wasn’t a big deal. I’m a related species, remember? An’ I’d ’ad a quick taste of the drips on the floor, when they pulled out Naboo. I knew whatever was in there wouldn’t ’urt me. But they didn’t know I knew that. So they stuck me in an’ left me for the guards to ’ave their fun with.”

Howard can hardly bear to ask the question that Tony’s clearly waiting for. “What – what did they do to you?”

“Nothin’ much. They may have eight brains apiece, but they’re a pretty unimaginative lot when push comes to shove. An’ surprisin’ly squeamish. Most of ’em couldn’t ’andle me pretty pigmentation an’ the aesthetically pleasin’ combination of bilateral an’ rotational symmetry, an’ none of ’em could bear to touch me or listen to the musical sound of me voice, so I just sat there chattin’ away an’ wavin’ me appendages until I became so fuckin’ annoyin’ that one night they hauled me out of that nice bath, stuck me on Naboo’s old carpet and fired me off the planet so hard I came all the way back to Earth.”

“And nobody noticed?”

Tony chuckles. “Oh, they must’ve noticed all right. But they couldn’t exactly pursue it without causin’ a scandal. The tabloid papers there are as bad as the Earth ones, although they’re a more interestin’ shape... The new Representative sent a message coverin’ it all up, telling Dennis the incident is closed an’ not to bother goin’ there ever again. Not that anyone in their right mind would want to. So that’s that.”

“That’s… quite a story.” Howard’s head is still spinning. “And thank you for telling me. But I still can’t see what’s screwed Vince up so badly.”

“Maybe you’re not lookin’ in the right place.”

“You, sir, are –”

“Maddenin’?” Harrison grins. “I’m also right. Go ’ome an’ think about it.”

And before Howard can move to stop him, he’s extended a tentacle and fished the transport amulet halfway out of Howard’s pocket. “Give Vince my love,” he says, and presses the button.

Howard materialises in the bathroom in the flat, and is thankful that there’s nobody in there. His head’s aching fiercely; he splashes some cold water on his face, and presses a towel over his eyes. He can still see shiny pinkness, still hear the nasal tones of Harrison’s voice in his head.

“ _Can’t ave bin easy for ’im, seeing the littlun in that state._ ”

Of course.

Howard thinks about kicking himself, but looks at his battered, bruised left wrist and doesn’t.

He’s taken enough punishment for one day. A decent cup of tea is what he needs now, and he’ll make one for Vince too, and start some diplomatic negotiations of his own.


	31. When I Find Myself in Times of Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard makes Vince a cup of tea, and Vince finally starts to talk.

“I, um, made us a brew.” Howard puts down the two teas on the table.

“Cheers.” Vince uncurls from the corner of the sofa, and reaches for the pink glittery mug.

Howard seats himself on the edge of the armchair and waits until Vince has put the tea down again. Then he takes a deep breath.

“I went to see Tony Harrison.”

Silence. Howard keeps his eyes firmly fixed on his own tea, and ploughs on regardless.

“He told me about your – bargain.”

Vince shifts nervously in his seat. “You’re not mad at me?”

“No more than I usually am.” Howard looks up, and smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring and light-hearted way. “I’m just glad it – you know, worked, and wasn’t too bad for you.”

“It should’ve bin you,” Vince mutters, and now he’s the one hiding behind his mug.

“It will be me, one day. Well, that is, if you want… if we… Vince?”

No reply.

“What is it, little man?”

“Did he tell you about… the rescue?” Vince whispers.

“That too, yes.” Howard tries to hide his surprise. This is the first time Vince has mentioned the subject in Howard’s hearing. “He told me how you flew the ship, and how brave you were.”

“I wasn’t. Not really. I just had to do it, is all. I was so scared, Howard, space is horrible, all black an’ endless an’ it’d kill you in a second if you gave it the chance.” Vince shivers, and wraps both hands around the hot mug. “I hated it. Hated Tony, he was so fuckin’ cheerful an’ he knew stuff about me I’d rather he didn’t an’ he wouldn’t shut up, all the way there.”

“I can’t begin to imagine being cooped up with Harrison in a confined space for hours,” Howard says, hoping Vince will keep talking, now he’s started. “It must have been terrible.”

“It was even worse after he’d gone. I couldn’t go down to the surface because of the toxic environment – but waiting in the capsule on my own was so hard, just floatin’ in space, the radio was broken an’ I couldn’t contact anybody, I just had to sit there in the blackness with no-one to talk to, not even the moon.”

“But at least you had Naboo for company on the way home.”

Vince turns chalk-white, and rounds on Howard savagely. “Like _that_ made it easier.” He lets out a low wail, a horrible, broken sound. “You don’t know what they did to him. You weren’t there. You weren’t _there_ …”

He flings the nearly-empty cup in the direction of the armchair; it whistles past Howard’s left ear and shatters against the wall in a messy explosion of sparkly fragments and tea-dregs.

And suddenly the tears come, and Vince is crying helplessly, and Howard doesn’t dare touch him, but only look on, equally helplessly. “Vince… don’t…”

“What the fuck’s going on? Howard, you tweedy twat, what have you done?”

Saboo strides over to the sofa and sits down beside Vince, holding him close while Vince clings to him and sobs, fighting for the breath to form coherent words until he finally manages to choke out, “It’s not – Howard’s fault – he didn’t mean – I just – ”

“Here.” Saboo passes Vince a hankie, and glares at Howard. “Moon, you’re an idiot, it should be you sitting here doing this, not me. This man’s been coping on his own long enough. And he’s not very good at it.”

“He’s done brilliantly,” Howard says, his own voice suddenly wobbly.

“You don’t need to tell _me_ that. I’m not the one who needs to hear it. Well, come on, don’t just sit there.”

Howard moves over to sit next to Vince, who has buried his face in his hands.

“Vince…”

“Mmmm?”

“You were magnificent,” Howard says. “I know that, and I wasn’t even there. But I’m here now, and I’m going to take care of you, even if I’m rubbish at it.”

“That’s what I had to do,” a small voice sniffs, “I had to take care of him, an’ I was rubbish at it…”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Saboo says quietly.

“No.” Vince grabs his arm to hold him back. “Don’t go, I – I’d like you to hear this too, cause I’m only gonna want to say it once.”

“But Naboo’s already told me –”

“There’s some stuff Naboo doesn’t know. He was out of it for quite a while.” Vince’s shoulders shake. Saboo sits back down, his face grave and concerned.

Howard takes Vince’s hand between both of his, and holds it tight. “What happened, Vince?”

“I had no warning… I wasn’t expecting…” Vince takes a trembling breath, and starts again. “You know when he said being unmale was like having no skin? Well, when they sent him back to the ship, he was straight out of the tank an’ he more or less _actually_ had no skin.”

Saboo catches his breath; Vince reaches out to him with his free hand. “Yeah, I know. You’ve seen the scars… They hadn’t exactly been careful pullin’ the tube out of his arm, an’ that green liquid must have been pure acid. It was a nightmare. The ship was out of my control, wobblin’ about all over the place on autopilot, I didn’t know where we were headed, could only hope it was Xooberon, an’ I had no idea what to do.” He leans his head on Howard’s shoulder. “He screamed every time there was a course correction an’ it jolted him off his feet, he could hardly stand anyway but sittin’ down was out of the question – he was ravin’ an’ callin’ for Bollo an’ Saboo, an’ throwin’ up from the pain, an’ beggin’ me for help whenever he could remember who the fuck I was, but I couldn’t touch him, couldn’t comfort him, couldn’t even knock him out, there wasn’t a first aid kit on board or anything.”

He sits up again, and wipes his eyes. “It only took a couple of hours to get back, but it felt like years. The landin’ was rough, I didn’t think either of us was goin’ to make it. An’ when Dennis opened the hatch an’ levitated Naboo out of there, Bollo took one look and went into monkey meltdown for the next two days… Naboo wouldn’t or couldn’t let me out of his sight, an’ he wouldn’t let anybody else touch him, so the shamen told me what to do an’ I had to do the cleanin’ up an’ the medical stuff until Bollo was fixed an’ could take over.”

“That can’t have been easy.” Saboo is looking at Vince with deep sympathy. “Those scars still make me wince, and they’re pretty much healed now.”

“He’ll probably always be scarred, Dennis said.”

“I know.” Saboo chokes, and falls silent.

“Dennis was amazing,” Vince says softly. “He did incredible magic, I know that sounds unlikely an’ most of the time he’s totally incompetent, but when it comes to it he has the power, I’ve seen it. Naboo was in bits and completely off his head but somehow Dennis mended him, just sat there for hours and hours and talked to him very quietly. Dunno what he was saying but it worked… he said some of it to me too although I don’t think that worked so well.”

“Perhaps it just took longer to have an effect,” Howard suggests.

“Maybe.” Vince sighs. Then he lets go of Saboo’s hand, and turns to Howard. “Howard, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, right when I got home, but I didn’t think you’d understand even if I could make myself talk about it, an’ after that you seemed so angry and upset an’ I thought it was because of Tony an’ that you wouldn’t want me back, an’ the longer I left it the harder it got, an’…”

“Let it go now. It’s all right.” Howard puts both arms around Vince, and hugs him: not too close, and not too long, but at least it’s a start.

Vince stifles a yawn, and Howard grins and ruffles his hair. “Sleepy time for you, little man. You’ve got a bit of catching up to do.”

Vince half-smiles as he gets up from the sofa. “So have you.”

He’s out of the door without waiting for a reply.

“What was that supposed to mean?” Howard mutters.

Saboo sighs, and rolls his eyes. “Moon, you prize plum duff, I thought you were supposed to be the expert on courtship? That was an invitation if ever I heard one.”


	32. time is an illusion; lunchtime doubly so

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mending is definitely happening.

_saboo comes back into the bedroom, walking like a man in a dream_

_bollo takes one look at his face and grunts - bollo going shopping for lunch now_

_you sit up in the bed - what is it? did something happen to vince?_

_\- why didn’t you tell me?_

_ah, so vince has found his voice at last_

_you look at the floor - couldn’t_

_\- vince said you wouldn’t remember_

_\- suppressed it - you mutter_

_not well enough though, you remember everything: falling, hitting the surface, the shock of cold and the awful realisation of burning, burning all over_

_and those **things** …_

_their shrill, harsh voices laughing at your screams as they stabbed the life support tube into your arm_

_their wiry tentacles forcing you under, hanging the weights from your limbs with cruel precision to make you neutrally buoyant_

_their threefold eyes watching you writhe and suffer, watching the damage they’d inflicted, every stripe and scar and crater kept open by the acid fluid in which they’d suspended you_

_and their - no no no can’t think about that, don’t want to remember, don’t **want** to -_

\- _steady on, little one, I’m here now, nobody’s going to make you do anything_ …

_he sits down on the bed, careful to leave a space_

_you reach out across it, and take his hand_

_it feels warm, and strong_

_he looks down at your linked fingers, then up at you, surprise on his face and a flicker of hope in his dark eyes - are you sure?_

_\- yeah, sorry it’s taken so long - you hang on tight as the memories keep coming_

_floating to the surface, like you did when they reached in and casually ripped you free_

_broken and ugly_

\- _you’re not ugly - he lifts his other hand to touch your patchy hair - not to me, never, it’s what’s inside that counts_

\- _you don’t want to know what’s inside_

_your voice is a whisper_

_he shakes his head and doesn’t press you_

_but the memory’s there, it’s there, coiled and heavy and foul, sliding through your consciousness like oil, like mucus, like the prehensile tip of a huge green tentacle_

_licking its way up your thigh as the others held you down, their touch burning, burning_

_cold green triple-eyes watching eagerly, thick tongues licking at slit-lips_

\- _don’t - you screamed - don’t_

_but you made no sound and even if you had, they’d have violated you all the same_

_a whimper escapes you - don’t_

\- _little one - warm fingers curl around your cold ones - how can I help?_

\- _hold me - you pull him down beside you, closing the rest of the gap_

_you never want to be so far from him again_

_he hushes you, fumbles the blankets out of the way, lets you press yourself against his side_

_holding you close, but ready to let you go_

_keeping you safe, not keeping you prisoner_

\- _thanks - you mumble into his shoulder, when you can speak again_

_\- you’re welcome - he gives one of his ironic snorts, a sound you haven’t heard in far too long - words are a crap medium for communication, aren’t they?_

_\- it’s a good thing there are… other ways - you cling to him tighter, lift your face, let him see that he can safely kiss you now_

_he’s so careful, it breaks your heart_

_so beautiful, it sets you on fire_

- _you can touch me, please touch me, I want you to - you guide his hand under your robes, to some of the places it doesn’t hurt_

_but still it’s not enough_

_you want to tear down the veil, let him in, show him all of you_

_link with me - you whisper - I don’t want secrets from you, not any more_

\- _no, little one, not yet, you’re not ready and neither am I - he kisses you again, gently - there’ll be plenty of time for that later_

_his hand slides lower down your belly - there are other things we can do while we’re waiting_

_and oh, it feels so good, and what feels best of all is simply hearing him laugh_

...

Howard comes slowly into the bedroom, even the sound of his hesitant footsteps telling Vince that he’s expecting to be told to go away again.

Vince stays sitting on the bed, head in hands, and doesn’t say anything.

The bed creaks as Howard sits down, close but not touching.

Vince looks up at his best mate, his loyal colleague, his annoying teacher, his… faithful lover?

He’s not sure about that last one, but maybe they can work on it.

Poor Howard. He looks exhausted, how can Vince not have noticed?

Vince takes a deep breath.

“Howard… what’ve I done?”

“Nothing, little man, nothing. I’m still here, aren’t I? I’ll always be here.” Howard’s face twists, and it looks like it’s an effort to get the words out. “But fuck it, you haven’t exactly made it easy.”

“I haven’t, have I?” Vince puts a hand on Howard’s shoulder, very cautiously. Howard feels all tight and knotted up. He needs one of Vince’s special shoulder-rubs. But when Vince moves his hand, just a little, Howard shakes his head and puts his own hand over Vince’s, to keep it there.

His shirt cuff’s slipped down. And his wrist –

Vince swallows hard.

Howard sees where he’s looking, and snatches his hand away.

“Did – did you do that?” Vince reaches for the damaged wrist, which Howard is trying to hide, pressing it between his knees, all hunched over and unhappy.

“Does it matter?” Howard asks wearily.

Vince pulls out Howard’s poor battered hand, and presses it to his own cheek. “Course it matters. An’ I know you did it, but it was my fault.” He can feel himself welling up again; he’s not sure how his body’s managing to produce so many tears in such a short time, maybe it’s all those cups of tea Howard’s been making him and getting not much thanks for. “I’m sorry. I just went off on my own an’ never thought what it’d be like for you. I thought what I had to do was hard –”

“It was.”

“But it was hard for you too, an’ I never really thought about that. I couldn’t think about you too much at all to be honest, I’d’ve gone totally mental if I had. I just knew I had a job to do…”

 

He’d lain face down on the pink satin pillows of the Harrisons’ four-poster bed, where he’d flung himself after stripping briskly naked. He’d never felt so alone and vulnerable in his life – about to be fucked by a sex-crazed, legless alien whose shamanic mumbo-jumbo about oaths was almost certainly not to be trusted, before heading off to an unknown planet on a risky rescue mission with the same sex-crazed, legless alien – and despite the sleek smoothness of the silk bedclothes against his skin, all Vince had really wanted was the reassuring scratchy tickle of a familiar moustache.

Not the squelchy groping of a muscular tentacle.

He’d been unable to suppress a whimper at the first touch, and to his surprise the touch was instantly withdrawn.

“Sssshhh,” Harrison had murmured, his voice surprisingly soft. “Just relax, I’ll make it good for you, I’m too far gone now not to go through with it, an’ let’s face it, you’re the tastiest thing I’ve seen in a very long while an’ I’m certainly gonna enjoy this, but that don’t mean I’ll forget there’s two of us in this bed.”

Vince had kept his eyes tight shut and tried to do as he was told, relaxing little by little as Tony’s tongue and appendages did their work.

He couldn’t help it…

 

“What couldn’t you help?” Howard’s little crinkly brown eyes are full of concern. Then – “Oh. He said you enjoyed it, and felt guilty afterwards.”

“I’m so sorry, Howard.”

“Don’t be. I mean… would you feel happier if he’d raped you, if you’d had a really bad time? Would you have been able to work with him to rescue Naboo if that had happened? He was just being professional, really, if you think about it.”

“I don’t wanna think about it.”

But he can’t help but think about it, there’s a whole layer of pink slippery memories all jumbled up with the awfulness of seeing Naboo all raw and bleeding and with big chunks of his hair missing, which somehow was the most awful thing of all. And the nasal whine of Tony’s relentlessly cheerful voice is still in Vince’s head, like an annoying mosquito that you just can’t swat.

 

“There we go,” Tony had said, “that’s beautiful, look in the mirrors if you don’t believe me, I ’ave a deep appreciation of artistic beauty an’ I really appreciate what you’re givin’ me ’ere, it’s top-notch. An’ I know it’s just a one-shot, which makes it all the more delectable. I am savourin’ every moment.”

Vince had sneaked a glance, and even through the film of tears he had to admit the multiple reflections of his trim, white arse-cheeks were indeed things of beauty. Although he could have done without the multiple reflections of Harrison’s private parts, which were frankly alarming.

“Don’t worry, I’ll scale meself down for you. Can’t do anythin’ about the colour, but then you won’t be seein’ that, will you?”

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

Tony had laughed and laughed. “I could say ‘magic’, but I’d be lyin’. Everybody thinks that, when they first catch sight of me legendary multi-hexagonal alien penis. ‘Blimey, it’s bright orange an’ it’s never gonna fit.’ But it will… it will.” He’d calmed down then, and stroked Vince’s back for a while, and it had almost been reassuring.

Almost.

Vince whimpered again when the tentacles returned to his bum and spread him apart. He’d been hard by then, hating himself for it but unable to make his erection go away, and when Harrison had lifted him up, to shove a pillow under him to improve the angle, it had been impossible to prevent the alien seeing… and stroking… and enjoying… and commenting, and fuck it, he didn’t want to know what Tony fucking Harrison thought about humans' genitals in general and Vince Noir’s in particular, but Tony’s touch was so cunning and experienced and downright irresistible that Vince had found himself seeing stars – and coming all over the pink satin upholstery – after only a few minutes.

After that, the insertion of the legendary alien bits wasn’t actually so bad, in fact Vince had to admit that at least some part of the H-Man’s reputation might not be purely a result of Tony’s gift for self-publicity.

Although he could have done without the running commentary.

Vince had had not just one, but two more rather amazing orgasms by the time Tony reached his own screeching, lustful peak, and after that he’d just lain there exhausted and let Tony have his way…

Which after a while he’d realised consisted of a gentle and genuine attempt to clean him up and make him comfortable.

Tony had thanked him and kissed him on the cheek before tucking him in under a clean satin sheet and wriggling in beside him, murmuring a word that had sent Vince instantly and dreamlessly to sleep.

And in the morning they’d woken up entangled and relaxed, but neither of them had said anything about it.

They’d had a job to do…

 

“Vince?”

“Sorry Howard, I was miles away there.” Vince rubs at his eyes. “Fuck it, I’m tired. An’ you’re tireder. C’m’on, big man, let’s snuggle up an’ have a sleepy an’ then maybe it’ll all look better.”

Howard looks stunned. “You mean that? You don’t want me to sleep in the other bed?”

“No. No, I don’t. I don’t ever want you to be that far away from me again, ever.” Vince grabs on to Howard and holds him tight. “I’ve been an idiot, an’ I’ve been unfaithful to you, all right it was in a good cause but still… an’ I’ve been horrible to you an’ made you hurt yourself, but you’re still here, an’ if you still want me, Howard…”

“Of course I do. You know that.”

“Then I’m all yours. All the broken bits of me, for what they’re worth.”

Howard pulls away a bit and looks down at Vince, and smiles, for the first time since… oh, forever. “Fine by me. Just as long as you’ll let me put you back together.”

“Course I will.” Vince looks back into Howard’s familiar, tired, beautiful face, and Howard kisses him, without even thinking about it.

And oh, it feels so good to be tickled by Howard's bristly moustache, and lie down wrapped in Howard’s strong Northern arms; but what feels best of all is simply hearing him laugh.

…

Bollo stands in the empty kitchen, looking at the beautifully laid table round which nobody is sitting, and the delicious food which nobody is there to eat.

He sighs, and rolls his eyes. “Humans. Shamans. They all as bad as each other. Sometimes Bollo wonder why he bother.”

But he’s grinning as he picks up Naboo’s cauldron and bangs it with a wooden spoon, making a racket that’s fit to wake the whole street.

“Oi! This not time for sleepies! This lunch time!”


	33. There's a First Time for Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Naboo is sleeping, Saboo has time to reflect

Naboo’s still asleep.

At least, I think he is; it’s sometimes difficult to tell. He’s often walking in dreams even when his eyes are open.

His eyes are closed now; their lids flicker. If he’s dreaming dreams, I hope they’re good ones, not the ones that’ll make him whimper and struggle and choke and finally wake up screaming.

We’ve had enough of that to last several lifetimes.

So far, so good. His breathing’s peaceful and even, no longer rasping through the rawness in his airway; the pulse in his slender neck is fast but steady, just as it should be.

I reach out, as I have done several times throughout the night, to touch his forehead: still cool. Another good sign.

I prop myself on one elbow, careful not to disturb him, and comfort myself with watching his chest rise and fall, seeing his delicate profile at rest and tranquil.

Sleep on, little one. You deserve to, after what you told me last night.

The bruises on his ribs and shoulder are still livid against his white skin; the pits and scars catch the morning light filtering through the curtains.

Those alien bastards. A rush of pure hatred rises at the back of my throat and almost strangles me. They did more damage in a few days than I’d ever done in four centuries. And how anyone could ever want to hurt him –

He made it so easy, damn him. So blasted easy. He let me feed my own sick ego by abusing him: marking him as my own, with sword or knife or even my own teeth and nails; tying him down, punishing him. All for the sake of the reconciliation that came afterwards… and let’s be honest here, for the sex. Which was pretty mind-blowing, if I do say so myself.

Oh, yes. It was good alright, what we had. Good, but wrong. And I never thought to ask myself whether it could be even better, if we could find another way for us to do things.

There has to be another way, now. We can’t go back.

I was young, when we met. Young and arrogant and full of bullshit, and looking for things to conquer. Full of conceit because I’d been asked to serve on the Shaman Council, which I was certain would bring opportunities, adventure, wealth, pretty girls flocking to my door…

Like I knew anything about anything, back then.

I had a bet on with my pal Dennis – yes, that Dennis, but this was way back, long before he became Head Shaman, he was just the swordplay tutor at the Academy in those days – that although he’d been elected to the Council a few years before me, I would be married to an extreme sports calendar model years before he was even dating anybody.

Yeah, right. Well, everybody knows I lost that bet. But what most of them don’t know is that I lost it the day I attended my first board meeting.

Dennis fussed amiably over me and showed me to my seat, even though he’d forgotten where his own was; and opposite me a tiny figure in a blue robe looked up and smiled.

I’d never seen anything I wanted so much. Not even the new E-Type flying carpet with the twin fringes and the go-faster stripes. The adventures, the gold, the pretty girls, could all go fuck themselves, if only I could possess that slim body, have that dazzling if slightly vague smile directed at me.

I asked Dennis who he was, but all he could tell me was that his name was Naboo (or was it Banoo? Dennis wasn’t quite sure) and that he was an undistinguished swordsperson owing to being stoned most of the time, and that Dennis had no idea what he was doing at the Council table, he was sure he’d never seen him there before, maybe the ancient Head Shaman fancied him, there were stories that the old man had tendencies in that direction…

I don’t remember anything else said by Dennis or anybody at that meeting. All I was aware of was Naboo, and even though I was being very careful not to meet his eyes, I knew that he knew.

I was grateful that Dennis had advised me that robes were appropriate attire for one’s first Council session. Robes hide a raging hard-on so much better than a tailored suit.

Afterwards we all went to some club or other. Don’t ask me which one: Xooberon City is full of them, and they’re all terrible. Too loud, too bright, too expensive. The Head Shaman passed out after his first cocktail; Dennis and I queued at the bar but when our drinks arrived, he took one look, got completely pissed on the mere idea of alcohol, and wandered off gibbering to himself about daffodils. Which left me with a ludicrously decorated cocktail in each hand and surrounded by a bunch of high-level magic practitioners I didn’t know very well, who seemed intent on getting out of their skulls as quickly as possible.

I was about to down both glasses and join them – I felt that would be the right thing to do – when I felt a pair of eyes boring into my back.

Naboo was standing at the edge of the dancefloor, just watching me.

I walked over, trying to look cool, and offered him the spare drink.

‘Is that Dennis’s?’

I nodded.

‘I’d rather have yours, then.’

Little sod had taken it out of my hand, tossed aside the umbrella and half-drained it before I could open my mouth to argue.

‘Cheers.’ He took out the two cherries on their cocktail stick and nibbled them off, watching me under his long eyelashes.

I was glad I was still wearing robes.

I didn’t know what to say, so I raised Dennis’s glass and drained it… and instantly understood why the mere thought of that drink had made him stagger and reel. I still don’t know what it was, and don’t want to. But I hope I never encounter it again. It was lethal. I was off my face in seconds.

And those languid dark eyes were still watching me.

‘I want to take you home and hurt you.’

I couldn’t quite believe I’d said that. But someone certainly had.

Naboo just looked up at me and nodded. ‘OK then. I haven’t got much on.’

And pretty soon he hadn’t, and neither had I, and once I’d got over the shock of his unmaleness (which he hadn’t warned me about, although to be fair his mouth had been pretty much occupied with mine all through the taxi journey and the three flights of stairs up to my flat) we were off and running on what was to be a rather longer-term commitment than either of us had anticipated.

I kept it from Dennis; from all my other friends. From myself, even, as much as I could. And I never knew (and never asked) what Naboo made of it all. It didn’t seem to touch him, really, although he kept coming back for more, and that was all I wanted.

In public, I affected to despise him, never missed a chance to put him down: my fruit-related insults became legendary. Sometimes I’d stay away from him for years at a time, but there was never anybody else, not seriously. (I refuse to admit to that night with the H-Man; if he doesn't remember it, then I'm not going to either.) 

I’d always go back to Naboo in the end.

Especially when it came to the crunch, the rare times when he’d actually admit he needed me. He might not know how I felt – I’m not sure I did myself, and it was never a formal arrangement – but he knew that I’d never let him down, even if I did sometimes cut things a bit fine.

Until this last time.

What was I thinking? Why was I so angry with him? How did I let the urge to punish him take over and drive me away? I should have been there, to feel the need, the fire and desperation, the heights and depths you only get right at that point; and the surge of energy afterwards, renewing us both.

I’ll never forgive myself, for missing that. Although in a way, I suppose, it all worked out for the best. Somehow those two human idiots seem to have managed to save, not only Naboo, but me as well. Was I subconsciously hoping they would? Did part of me know that the only way that Naboo and I would have a future would be by breaking everything and putting it back together in a different order?

Or was it all written in the tealeaves?

I never really got Naboo’s constant rambling about tealeaves (they never speak to me, not so much as a four-letter word) or why he had to go and work in a crappy zoo. In fact I never understood why he took an Earth posting in the first place: that business with the Amulet was a monumental cockup all round. And Dennis wasn’t even involved, which makes it the more impressive. But maybe Naboo’s subconscious mind knew that was where he’d need to be…

Magic works in some fucking peculiar ways sometimes. I mean, look at Tony Harrison.

I didn’t argue with the little one, just got myself enough freelance Earth work to justify having a flat in London. It’s not such a bad city, as they go. Ultimately I’d like to move back to Xooberon full-time, but when I do, it won’t be alone.

Naboo stirs and mutters something, a frown line between his eyebrows. I smooth it away, push his tattered hair back off his face, murmuring a replenishment-word as I do. I’m not a big believer in incantations – to be honest, they make me feel a bit silly – but you never know, it might just help.

He smiles, and opens his eyes. ‘Thought you didn’t believe in mumbo-jumbo and spells.’

‘I don’t.’

‘That’s OK, cos I do… look, this bit’s comin’ back already.’

‘That, you plum pudding, has more to do with Vince and his coconut conditioner than it does with my spell-casting ability.’

He looks at me under those silky eyelashes, his eyes glinting with a spark of humour that I haven’t seen in far too long. ‘You know what else is comin’ back?’

Without waiting for an answer, he takes my hand and guides it under the covers again.


	34. the first time ever i saw your face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo remembers that first time quite clearly too.

_\- oh, that feels - oh -_

_\- you want me to stop?_

_he never used to ask you that, not as if he would actually take notice of your answer_

_you shake your head - don’t you dare, I’ve missed this_

_his warm fingers stroke slow circles over your belly, over your mound, going so far but no further, not yet_

_every touch easing the ache inside you_

_you can feel your tight muscles unknotting, you don’t have to work so hard to hold it together now, you can relax and let him take care of you, let yourself mend in your own good time_

_\- do you remember the first time?_

_you’re not sure why you asked him that, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, it’s the same burning, longing look he was giving you three-hundred-and-something years ago over the conference table, it still makes you feel joyously invincible and he’s still the most beautiful thing in the whole universe_

_\- how could I forget? i took you back to my flat, and you - he pretends to be indignant, but he’s smiling all the same - i still can’t believe it, you cheeky little titbox, I’d spent years doing it up, getting the minimalist look just right, and you took one look and shrugged and said it was boring… I was gutted_

_\- serves you right for bein’ a pretentious young twat - you giggle - you deserved to be taken down a peg or two, you punished me for it though_

_\- i certainly did - a sudden shadow crosses his face, as though he’s not sure we should be talking about that, and he takes his hand off you like he’s afraid you’ll break under its weight_

_\- listen - you reach up and run your fingers through his hair, something he rarely permitted you in those days - I know things’re gonna be a bit different from here on in, but I fink it’s only fair to warn you…_

_\- warn me? - he bites his lip_

_it’s not fair to tease him, and you can’t keep a straight face any more - yeah, I’ll still want mirrors an’ bead curtains when I move in with you, you know_

_\- when - his mouth forms the word, his eyes full of hope_

_\- yeah, when… but there’s plenty of time, I’m in no rush, an’ I’m… not ready to leave Earth, not just yet… you see, i…_

_\- you’ll want to see howard and vince out, I suppose_

_you weren’t expecting him to understand, and you start to try to explain and apologise and thank him all at once, but he shushes you - little one, don’t worry about it, I’ll be there when you’re ready, just say the word_

_-thanks - you fling your arms around his neck and kiss him - now, where were we?_

_-about here, I think - he tickles you, making you squirm and giggle, then resumes his leisurely stroking until you’re calm again_

_\- do what you did the first time - you say on impulse - look at me, all over_

_\- but your scars - he says, before he can help himself, and shuts his eyes tight_

_\- aren’t as bad as you think - you kick the covers off - **look** -_

_his eyes fly open_

_ah, so your command-voice is working even better than you dared hope, he never used to be susceptible to it_

_then you see that he wanted to look anyway really, his pupils go wide and black, it feels like he’s eating you up with his eyes and it’s a bit scary lying there all battered and with nothing on_

_it was a bit scary that first time too, although you knew you were pretty much flawless_

_but all the same it mattered that he should like what he saw_

_he’s silent, now as then, and you lie quite still, waiting to find out what he’s going to do_

_except this time it’s your choice to be in his power_

_this time you’re not tied to the bed_

_and when he leans down and starts to touch, with trembling hands and hot mouth, and makes you cry out, it’s mostly not because he’s hurting you and even when he does, it’s not because he meant to_

_you let him explore you all over, discovering you all over again_

_stroking so far and then further, working his way inside you slowly, slowly, so you can both be sure there aren’t any bad memories lurking anywhere_

_and when you are both sure, you lay him on his back and do what you should have done that first time, what you wanted to do but chose not to let him allow you, taking possession of that magnificent body until no part of it is hidden from you_

_seeing him as he really is_

_when you take him in hand, he’s as hard and as hot as the rocks in the Xooberon Desert, and you’re already dripping wet_

_he’s never let you do this either, but perhaps now…_

_you lift yourself up and kneel astride him, meet his astonished gaze_

_\- little one, are you sure?_

_\- never been more sure of anything… you?_

_he just nods, and you slide yourself onto him, silk-smooth_

_he’s almost-there in minutes, you weren’t even gripping that tight, at least you didn’t think you were, but suddenly he’s catching his breath in that way you know so well, and although you slow your movements he can’t pull himself back from the edge, he’s lost, crying out - oh, oh -_

_he never used to let himself make a sound_

_you press yourself to him and he holds you as tight as he dares, as though if he had the chance he’d weld the two of you into a single being_

_it breaks your heart yet again that even as he’s swept away, he remembers where you’re sore, tries to avoid the worst parts_

_afterwards you lie with your head on his shoulder, feeling his big heart pounding in his chest below you, his proud maleness softening inside you_

_\- I’m sorry - he whispers_

_\- don’t be, it might be a while before I can… but that felt good - you laugh softly - you did that the first time too, remember, ’cept I was underneath, didn’t put me off though, did it?_

_\- apparently not_

_\- well then - you kiss him - reckon we’re good for another three hundred years_

_\- and the rest, little one, and the rest…_


	35. The Jigsaw Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince and Howard put some of their broken pieces back together.

Vince jolts awake from a dream of being slowly suffocated, in a tiny dark space that was getting smaller and smaller as well as hotter and hotter.

He’s relieved to find that it was only the duvet over his face, and Howard’s arm wrapped tightly around him.

The big man’s still asleep. No wonder, after Vince had kept him up most of the night, talking and talking, seemingly unable to stop once he’d finally started, like he’d pulled out a plug or popped a champagne cork or something.

Such a relief, to get it all out in the open, to do what he should’ve done in the first place and share it all, the awfulness and the thick black dark and Naboo landing flump on the floor of the space capsule in a pool of blood and slime and Howard not being there to help and…

Stop thinking, Vince, stop thinking. He sends a message to the brain secretary to turn down the TV transmitter and put happy stuff on more of the channels, and he wriggles closer to Howard, because now Howard is there to help and he’s helping a lot, even though he’s not even awake yet.

Howard’s wonderfully warm and he smells just right, and his snoring and his heartbeat are steady and comforting, like the best bassline you could imagine, a rhythm you can build your whole life around.

The arm round Vince’s ribcage tightens a little, and the snoring stops.

“Bad dream, little man?”

“Not really, I just wanted…”

“I know. Me too.” Howard pulls Vince on top of him and wraps the duvet warmly around his shoulders. “You had me a bit worried there for a while.”

“I was worried as well.” Vince rubs his face against Howard’s neck, where he can feel Howard's pulse most strongly. He imagines the blood whooshing along under the skin, the brain-plumbing that keeps that bizarre and beloved Northern mind-tank ticking over. “Howard…”

“Mmm?”

This isn’t easy for Vince to say, but he’s committed now. “You know what had me most worried?”

“Thinking that your hair might be irretrievably damaged?”

“No. Thinkin’ that you might not… when I came back… that you wouldn’t… want…”

“Want what?”

“ _Me_.”

Saying it aloud makes it worse, the lurking fear reaching up to grab Vince by the throat. He lets out a sob, and clings on tight.

“Don’t think that.” Howard’s voice is rough, like he’s biting back tears too. “Don’t ever think that, because it’ll never be true. There’s plenty of other stuff you can worry about, if you want. We might fight – I’d be surprised if we didn’t – and after what we’ve been through, there’s bound to be a lot of dust to settle. But you and me, Vince… I said this’d be forever, and Howard Moon is a man of his word, sir.”

He takes Vince’s face between those big kind hands; kisses him gently. “Listen, I don’t care what you did, or with whom” – trust Howard to be grammatical, even when he’s making love-talk – “you’re here with me now, and that’s all that matters.” More kisses. “Better now?”

“Think so, yeah, cheers.” Vince settles himself more comfortably on top of Howard. “Hey, Howard?”

“What is it?”

“Y’know when I said I’d still be your first real boy…?”

Howard shakes his head. “Plenty of time for that. We don’t have to – I mean, it’s not that I don’t want – but you don’t have to do it, to prove anything. We can wait until things have settled, till we’re back to normal.”

“Since when’ve we ever been normal?”

Howard chuckles. “You have a point there, little man.”

“Actually” – Vince presses himself against Howard’s undeniable arousal – “I think it’s you that’s got the point there, Howard.”

It’s a crap joke, but it makes Howard laugh out loud. And when he’s finished laughing, they snog some more; and when they’ve finished snogging, or at any rate come up for air, Howard looks into Vince’s eyes, suddenly serious again. “You really want this, don’t you?”

Vince takes Howard’s lovely whiskery mouth in a lovely whiskery kiss. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I mean, I know we’ve got loads of time now ’n everything, but it seems to me that, well, now’s as good a time as any. We don’t know what else might happen… Stuff happens to us a lot, an’ I don’t wanna be left with unfinished business the next time somethin’ happens. Did that make sense?”

“About as much as anything you say ever does.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

Howard takes a deep breath. “Yes.”

Determined to waste no more time, and all trembly with excitement, Vince rolls off Howard and reaches into the drawer of the bedside table. “There you go.” He passes Howard the lube. “You know what to do.”

“Ummm, well, I don’t, not really.”

“Yeah, you do, I saw you. Just… just do like you did for Naboo, OK? You were fantastic.”

“I needed a lot of help, actually.” Howard unscrews the cap of the tube, and looks doubtfully at it, like something nasty’s going to crawl out.

“Since when did I say I wasn’t goin’ to help you? C’m’on, big man, don’t look so worried. It’s only me, an’ I bet you remember better than you think you do, an’ I’ll help fill in any bits you’ve forgotten.”

He does remember. Of course he does. And apart from the odd technical hitch, like them both suddenly finding that they should have remembered to go to the bathroom first, it all goes remarkably smoothly. Deliciously smoothly. Better than Vince had dared to hope.

Despite his uncertain start, Howard slowly but surely takes control, his hands steady and careful, spreading Vince apart, working gradually inside.

Vince whimpers as the first finger goes in, and Howard stills his movements. “Too much, too soon?”

“He didn’t hurt me,” Vince whispers, answering the question Howard was really asking. “It’s beautiful, Howard, please don’t stop.”

“All right, little man… But if you need me to, just say. I want to get this right.”

“You are gettin’ it right.” Vince tilts his hips, just a little, asking for more; and Howard gives him what he’s asking for, taking time over it, until he’s got three fingers in there and Vince is all relaxed and slicked and readier than he’s ever been.

And now it’s Howard who’s gone all trembly, Vince can feel those little brown eyes looking and looking, and that big hot cock brushing against him, and Howard hesitating on the brink…

“We don’t have to, Howard,” Vince says quietly. “Listen, if I die right now I’ll die happy. Although if I can survive for another ten minutes I’m sure I’ll die even happier.”

Another crap joke, but it seems to have done the trick. Howard snorts with laughter, and prods his erection against Vince’s bum. “Ten minutes? Little man, at the rate we’re going it’ll be two if you’re lucky.”

“I’ll settle for that.” Vince reaches down to give Howard a helping hand, because even with all that careful preparation it’s a tight fit… blimey, it’s a tight fit… but it feels so good.

He’s been waiting for a long time for this. This. Howard braced above him, face squinched up in a ludicrous grimace like when they kissed on the roof: amazement, bewilderment, terror, lust, embarrassment and ecstatic happiness all pulling his features in different directions. Vince has never seen anybody look so irresistibly fuckable.

Even though, on this occasion, Howard’s not the one being fucked.

Vince breathes deep, trying to relax and let his body come to terms with all the wonderful things that are happening to it. He’s a bit scared – his previous experiences have all been in some way painful or embarrassing – but also completely over the moon, or should that be under the Moon? Come on, Vince, concentrate, let him in just a bit further, because if you do it’ll feel…

“Oh!”

... it’ll feel like that, yeah. Genius. Like the biggest and sparkliest firework you could imagine. Like… hang on, Howard’s stopped again, bless him, he’s being so careful…

“You can move, Howard, ’s’OK, I can take it.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure I can.” Howard is gasping for air, and Vince’s every slightest twitch and wriggle makes Howard shudder all over.

It lasts a bit more than two minutes, although certainly nothing like ten; but Vince is happier than he’s ever been, and he can both see and feel the signs that Howard’s not going to be able to keep this up much longer.

“C’m’on Howard, it’s alright, let it go. This is your time. All yours.”

Howard half-laughs, half-groans as Vince thrusts against him. “How come – I’ve been letting you – have all the fun – for so long?”

“ _All_ the fun?” Vince pouts.

“Fair point – maybe not all, but – you know what I mean – Oh. Oh, little man. Vince. This is – I mean, it’s – I can’t…”

“Shush. Less talk and more action. You’re doin’ brilliantly.” Vince moves in time with Howard, helping him, watching him get closer and closer to the inevitable… and when Howard finally loses it, the high-pitched squeak he makes is completely ridiculous and also completely the most totally sexy sound Vince has ever heard, and somehow it tears Vince loose from his moorings and sends him over the edge too, without Howard even laying a hand on him.

Afterwards Vince cries and cries, but not because anything’s particularly wrong, it’s more like he's a glass or a bath or something that’s full to overflowing; and Howard asks no questions but just sorts him out and cleans him up and settles him back under the duvet and lies down beside him, holding his hand, until he’s quiet again.

There’s a rumble of traffic from the street outside, and a murmur of voices from the other bedroom; then a sudden yelp like a seagull, faint but distinct, coming through the wall.

Howard grins even more broadly than he was already, if that were possible. “Sounds like you and me won’t be the only ones showing up for breakfast with smiles on our faces.”

“At both ends,” Vince agrees.

Third crap joke of the morning. But still it makes the big man laugh.

What the heck, who needs sophisticated humour when you’re in love?


	36. Summer Time, and the Livin' is...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince and Howard come home from the pub (again) and walk in on something that isn't what they think it is (again).

“Phew. This is what I call summer.” Vince shoves his sweaty hair off his forehead, and grins at Howard. “After closing time, and still hot.” 

“Time to go home and take all our clothes off, then?”

“That is _exactly_ what time it is. Howard Moon, with or without magic potions, you are a mind-reader an’ a genius.” Vince staggers on his high heels, accidentally-on-purpose, just to feel Howard’s strong arm catching him before he falls down the steps of the pub.

“Takes one to know one.” Howard pulls Vince in close, and plants a beery, sweaty kiss on his cheek. “Bit warm for me, this.”

“Well, you are from the Frozen North, you’re not used to it. An’ you’re better insulated than me.” Vince prods Howard cheekily in the midriff.

“Do that again, and I’ll let go of you,” Howard warns.

“Awww, but it feels nice… alright, alright, I didn’t mean it, look, no hands.” Vince leans against Howard’s shoulder as they navigate the steps and set off up the street. “Tell you what, it might be too warm for you, but it’s suiting Naboolio a treat. His hair’s lookin’ great now, an’ he’s well ’appy. Hasn’t even called us ballbags for at least a week.”

“Don’t you think that’s down to Saboo, rather than the weather?”

“Maybe… he does seem to have been round ours a lot, takin’ Naboo out an’ that. Makin’ up for lost time, but doin’ it nice an’ slow. I reckon they’ll be alright now.”

“Must be my advice on proper old-fashioned courtship.” Howard takes Vince’s hand, and raises it to his lips. “Yes, sir, Howard Moon knows how to treat a young lady. Or a young gentleman, as the case may be.”

“Or a young ‘ooh, I’m not sure I mind’?” Vince wiggles his hips suggestively.

Howard slaps him affectionately on the bottom. “I don’t mind at all, Vince, as you well know.”

“I don’t think Saboo minds, either.” Vince grins. “He’s a lot less scary when he’s smiling. Never seen him so cheery as when he came to pick Naboo up this evening. Dunno where they were goin’, but it must’ve been somewhere nice… You got your keys?”

Howard rummages in a pocket. “Here you go.”

“Cheers.” Vince opens the door. “Race you up the stairs.”

“In this heat? No way. Not if you want me to be any good to you when we get to the top.”

Vince sticks his tongue out. “Spoilsport.”

“Realist is the word, little man. Or…”

“Shush.”

“What?”

“Thought I ’eard someone cryin’. An’ all the lights are off…”

“Naboo,” they say together, and together they race upstairs.

Howard clicks the lounge light on, revealing a tiny figure lying face down on the sofa, sobbing as though his heart is breaking.

“Naboolio.” Vince kneels beside him. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

Naboo can’t even lift his head out of his folded arms. All Vince can do is put a hand on his shoulder, and wait for the tears to subside.

“What’s he done to you?” Howard’s voice is low and furious; he looms over and perches on the arm of the sofa. “If he’s hurt you, I’ll fucking kill him this time. Where is he?”

“Gone,” Naboo hiccups faintly, “Dennis – paperwork…”

“ _Paperwork_?” Howard is frowning in puzzlement.

Naboo can only nod in reply. Vince pats him on the back as a fresh wave of tears lays him out again. “We can’t try to make ’im talk yet, Howard, we’ll only make it worse. Tell you what, put the kettle on, we’ll ’ave a brew. Could do with one anyway.” He leans down closer. “Sweetheart, it’s alright, me’n’Howard are here, take your time. I’m sure we can sort it.”

“Th – thanks…” Naboo is shivering; he feels so fragile, still, although he’s come such a long way in these past few months. Vince feels a chill come over him, an echo of the overpowering helplessness he’d felt as Naboo staggered round the tiny space capsule, weeping with an agony Vince couldn’t even begin to imagine.

At least this time he can be touched, and comforted, and Vince does his best to do both as Howard potters around the kitchen making tea. By the time the big man appears with three steaming mugs and a plate of chocolate biscuits, Naboo is propped upright against the cushions with Vince’s arm round him and a box of tissues in easy reach, and has gone from helpless sobs to minor snuffling.

“Now then.” Howard sits down on his other side. “What’s all this about paperwork?”

“Don’t –” Naboo blows his nose “– don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry. But I will be, if –”

“Nobody’s hurt me, ya ballbag. I’m just… I’m _happy_. Don’t humans ever cry when they’re happy?”

“I do,” Vince says helpfully. “Mostly when Howard’s been –”

“I’ll stop you there, Vince, if I may,” Howard says. “Too much information. So, Naboo, you’re telling us that you were lying here, on your own, in the dark, crying your eyes out, because you were _happy_?”

“Well, basically, yeah.” Naboo blows his nose again, and the light catches the sparkling blue stone of a ring on his left hand, a ring Vince is sure he’d have noticed if Naboo’d been wearing it when he went out. “We had a great evenin’, Saboo asked me to life-bond with him, an’ I said yes, an’ then when I came home an’ started thinkin’ about it, it all kind of blew me away a bit.”

“A wedding in the family! Genius!” Vince kisses him on the cheek. “Mate, I’m so happy for you… an’ that is a wicked ring, Montana sapphire, right?”

“Congratulations,” Howard says, and kisses him too. “Now let’s all drink our tea before it gets cold, because once Vince gets onto the subject of wedding outfits, we’ll be here all night.”

“Hey, ’ave you set a date yet? An’ will it be on Xooberon? An’ are we invited?” Vince is bouncing with excitement.

Naboo sips his tea with maddening slowness, and begins to smile. “Yeah, no, an’ of course… Next full moon, that’s three weeks, an’ we want to have the ceremony here on earth, right here in this room in fact, an’ if you two will do me a big favour, I’d like you to stand witness for me, put your names on the bonding scroll before we seal it up.”

“Course we will, won’t we, Howard?”

“It will be an honour, sir.”

“Thanks… It’s a bit unconventional, that’s why Saboo’s had to go an’ clear the paperwork with Dennis. The witnesses’re supposed to be two other shamen. Saboo’s gonna ask Kirk and Tony. There is some legislation in the Council’s big blue book that covers special cases but the forms you have to fill in are a nightmare, then there are a few potions an’ things to sort out… he’ll be away a couple of days, I should think.”

“Is Dennis going to conduct the ceremony?” Howard asks.

“Yeah, we had to ask him after what he did for me, even though he’s more or less bound to cock it up somehow. Whatever you do, don’t let him get at the drinks until afterwards.”

Vince thinks his head might fall off from sheer eagerness. “There’s gonna be drinks? We’re ’avin’ a party? A proper reception? An’ a stag night before’and? Can I organise it for you? An’ I could pick outfits, or do you have special robes or something, an’ I’ll do your hair, an’ we’ll need a cake… Howard could make a cake, he’s a bakin’ genius… an’ hey, where are you goin’ on honeymoon, or is it a secret, an’ where… Oh.” His joy suddenly evaporates, like a popped bubble in the bathtub. “Where are you goin’ to live, after? It’ll be Xooberon, won’t it?”

He looks round the familiar room. It’s going to be weird, not to have Naboo and Bollo around any more. And maybe Naboo will want to sell the shop, and Vince and Howard will have to move on…

“No. No, it won’t. I don’t want to change all this, not yet anyway, it’s too soon. We’ll be bonded, but we’re not moving back to Xooberon for a few decades yet, we need to find the right place to settle down an’ we’re happy to keep things the way they are for a while. So don’t worry.” Naboo wraps an arm around Vince’s middle, and gives him a friendly squeeze. “You can organise all you want, I know you do good parties. An’ I won’t be goin’ anywhere for longer than a week or two, an’ I won’t be kickin’ you out on the street either. So get thinkin’ about outfits, I wanna look good on my big day.”

He hauls himself off the sofa, and yawns. “An’ now I need a sleep, I’m done in.”

“Where’s Bollo?” Vince asks.

“Gone out to a club to celebrate with his monkey mates. We won’t see him this side of three a.m. I shouldn’t think… Sleep well, you guys. And… thanks.”

“Well.” Howard turns to Vince, and raises his mug in a toast. “That’s quite some piece of good news, isn’t it? Here’s to the happy couple.”

“Couples.” Vince murmurs, under his breath. He chinks his cup against Howard’s, and drains it.

“Now then, little man, is it still time…”

“Mmm? Time?”

“Time to do what we were planning on our way home – you know, take all our clothes off and…”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, course, sorry Howard, miles away there.”

“Thinking about Naboo’s wedding robes?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“More likely your own outfit,” Howard teases. “Making a shortlist?”

Vince doesn’t disagree. He was thinking about a list. Howard’s list, of what he wanted to do in bed with Vince.

And of the bit at the end that he’d read without Howard knowing it.

_Item Number 7. I want to be married to Vince and never ever have to be apart from him ever again._


	37. You and Me in the Night Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the story. (But is it really the end of the story?)

“Well?” Howard puts his empty mug on the table. “Are we going to bed too, or are you just going to sit there dreaming about sequins all night? … Vince?”

Vince hasn’t moved. He’s still staring into space, his blue eyes dreamy, his angular features uncharacteristically thoughtful.

Howard could sit here and watch him all night, if there weren’t so many other things he wanted to do with him all night.

A slight shiver runs through Vince’s body, and now he looks scared rather than pensive. Perhaps he’s just rattled by seeing Naboo all upset. There isn’t anything else here to be frightened of. Howard is just about to move closer and offer reassurance, when Vince draws a deep, resolute breath as though he’s just come to a difficult decision.

“Howard?”

“What’s wrong, little man?”

Vince shakes his head. “Nothing’s wrong exactly… well, I mean, it is a bit wrong, this isn’t how I imagined it but maybe it’s better this way, just here at home on the sofa with a cup of tea, an’ you might be a bit mad with me for stealing your big moment but I don’t wanna waste any more time, an’ I never thought I’d be the one saying this… don’t even know if I can say it… ”

Howard’s worried now, really worried, but he tries to keep his voice steady. “Course you can, there’s nothing you can’t say to me.”

“OK then, here goes.” Vince puts down his empty mug and slides off the sofa onto the floor. He must be more drunk than Howard had realised. And he looks so frail and vulnerable huddled down there on one knee, his head bowed and the thick fall of his black hair hiding most of his face. “Howard…”

“I’m listening, Vince.” Howard shuffles along the sofa, closing the gap between them until Vince is leaning against Howard’s legs, kneeling right at his feet…

Oh.

Ah.

 _Right_ …

Bit slow on the uptake there, Howard Moon.

Vince looks up, biting his lip. “Howard, I gotta confession to make.”

“You peeked at Number Seven,” Howard says, without anger.

The tension goes out of Vince’s hunched shoulders. “Yeah, I did.”

“And?” Howard takes one of Vince’s surprisingly cold hands between both of his own.

“And…” Vince looks at their joined hands, hesitates for a fraction, then looks up at Howard and plunges headlong. “And... we weren’t ready for it back then, at least I wasn’t, but I am now, an’ I haven’t been organised about a ring or anythin’, but… Howard T J Moon, will you marry me?”

 

…

 

Howard says many things in answer to this question, all of which are in some way equivalent to ‘yes’, before picking Vince up bodily and carrying him to their bedroom to work through all the previous items on Howard’s list, in roughly numerical order.

Vince strips for him, posing and wiggling, and Howard can’t wait for Item Number One to end, he just has to get off the bed and kiss Vince again, and they end up taking each other’s clothes off in record time, Item Two leading seamlessly into a glorious, giggling, entangled exploration of Items Three and Four.

After which Vince is the recipient of one of Howard’s best-ever Number Fives, Howard taking Little Vince in deeper than he’s ever managed before, swirling his tongue around the salty, sweaty, Vince-flavoured flesh, making Vince whimper and moan, “Howard… want you… in me… please…”

No Man of Action could possibly deny such a passionate and accurately phrased request. Howard lets go of Vince’s cock (such a vulgar word for such an elegant thing) and turns to his attention to various other delicious bits of Vince, licking and nibbling, probing and stretching and finally reaching for the lube to make sure everything’s ready for Item Number Six.

He can take his time. Vince isn’t going anywhere. Vince will be with him, always, however long that may turn out to be.

“Howard…” Vince pleads, and Howard slides himself in, gently and carefully, Vince’s body rearranging itself around him, hot and tight and quivering.

“That OK for you, little man?”

“Perfect.” Vince’s eyes are shining with love. “Just perfect, Howard, cos it’s you.”

Howard doesn’t know how he could possibly ever be happier than he is right now this minute.

Until Vince shows him.

 

…

 

Later that night, as they lie sticky and entwined on top of the sheets, they’re woken by a sharp cry from the next room.

Naboo is sitting upright in bed, in the grip of some awful nightmare, screaming: “Don’t shut the door, don’t shut the door!”

It takes a while to wake him; Vince holds him while he cries and shivers.

“Wonder what’s brought this on?” Howard murmurs.

“Prob’ly just stress. He’s bin through a lot, an’ now things’re about to change… Hey, Naboolio, Bollo’s not home yet, d’you wanna come in with us so you’re not on your own?”

Naboo nods, and Howard picks him up and takes him back to Vince’s bed.

They lie one on either side of him; Howard strokes him behind his ear, very softly, until he’s calmer.

“Thanks.” Naboo’s voice wavers. “An’ sorry, an’… congratulations? Am I right?”

“That’s some mind-reading you just did there, magic man,” Vince says. “But yeah, you’re right, we’re all headed for number 7, it’s gonna be genius… an’ since we’re talking fairytale endings here, I’ve got somethin’ to add to your list, Howard, number 8.”

“Along the lines of ‘and they all woke up stuck together in the morning?’ ” Howard suggests.

“Course not, ya berk.” Vince giggles. “Although that’ll probably come true too… no, you know and I know and Naboo knows there’s only one way for us to end.”

Three voices in unison chant: ‘ _And they all lived happily ever after_.’


	38. come with us now on a journey through time and space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This really IS the end of the story this time. At least until I finish writing the coda...

_it’s warm on xooberon, warm with the sort of warmth that goes all the way through you_

_and so beautiful_

_the sea silky lavender; purple-and-white sand gritty on your bare skin and between your toes_

_nobody here to yell at you for not wearing shoes_

_you roll over, basking in the afternoon suns, waiting for the head shaman to honour you with his presence_

_you don’t mind waiting_

_there are worse places to wait_

_the seagulls ride the warm, fragrant breeze, yelping and chattering; the sea-beasts snort and puff as they sun themselves on the purple rocks down by the cliff_

_a big wave breaks with a crash, and you can’t help feeling a little anxious_

_you’re still not a big fan of immersion since the tank, you could just about manage a bath after a hundred years or so, as long as there was a certain someone in there with you, but swimming in the sea? no way_

_it’s just too much water all at once_

_you look around for something more secure, more solid_

_the rabbit-nibbled turf of the dunes is vibrant green in the sunlight, and if you crane your neck you can see the weathered wooden roof of the rambling building you now call home_

_cluttered and comfortable and full of light and mirrors, smelling of incense and fire-smoke_

_you spent a fortune on the place, and a second fortune on the island on which it stands (vintage fashion and second-hand jazz records were hot property at the time)_

_on the kitchen table stands a vase of roses in full flower, so dark red they are almost black_

_that thought makes you smile_

_\- thinking of me, little one?_

_you look up, and oh, this is a sight of which you will never tire_

_your life-mate standing proud and tall, the suns behind him outlining his lean shape with brightness_

_his sleek skin pearled with water-drops and dappled with sand_

_stark bollock naked, a thousand years old and head shaman, and looking good on it_

_he was elected unanimously when dennis retired and went to live in switzerland_

_but he doesn’t take the traditional privilege, he’s delegated the first-crunch-times to tony harrison, who is known for his tact, delicacy and mindblowing technique_

_(the h-man suggests a threeway occasionally when he comes to visit, but you’ve never really fancied it)_

_saboo stretches out beside you, pulls you on top of him, still sea-chilled but with a warmth growing between you_

_\- you want to…?_

_\- bit sandy - you wriggle against him_

_he murmurs a word of power - not any more_

_\- oi, you’re only supposed to use magic for a noble cause_

_\- and what nobler cause is there than making you happy, little one?_

_you laugh with pure joy, and slide onto him, silk-smooth_

_his big cool hands on your back are strong and gentle, holding you, as your cries mingle with those of the gulls_

_but afterwards there are tears_

_he strokes your hair, the pulse beating in his shoulder under your cheek_

_you never told him about the tender place behind your ear, somehow you can’t bear to_

_you even kept it out of the mind-link because that was howard’s discovery and it’s only his big hand you want to touch you there_

_you sigh_

_\- you still miss them, don’t you?_

_\- ’m sorry_

_\- no, little one, never be sorry, you need never apologise to me for thinking about them, we owe all this to them… I miss them too_

_then he lifts your chin in his strong fingers and looks at you - it’s starting again, isn’t it?_

_the coil of anticipation inside you twists a little tighter as you nod_

_you see his eyes light up with eagerness_

_but still there is an ache inside you for vince and howard_

_it’s always hardest to bear at crunch time_

_their double wedding with yours is still in all the fashion textbooks, vince did an amazing job_

_dennis magicked the room bigger to hold 300 people, and yet it was still your own familiar living room_

_you invited everyone, even bob fossil, although bollo did make him put on a jacket over his sparkly nipple-tassels, there are some things that nobody needs to see_

_tony and bollo were a dynamite dj combination_

_the h-man offered howard and vince cryogenic preservation as a wedding gift but they refused_

_perhaps they learned from you not to be scared of dying_

_the tealeaves warned you_

_it wasn’t their fault you didn’t get the message_

_although they’ve never spoken to you since_

_DON’T LET THEM SHUT THE DOOR… well, that could’ve meant anything…_

_it was the day vince discovered his first grey pube_

_you remember him going ballistic, yelling - i can’t put hair dye THERE - and howard telling him that grey hairs were sexy, and trying to calm him down with that stupid calmallamadown crimp that you hated so much but would give both of your fortunes and more to hear him sing again_

_it was clearly going to be a long discussion, so you went upstairs for a cup of tea and left them to it_

_you didn’t remember about the nightmare until much later_

_too late_

_kirk, little bastard, it was all his fault_

_he built a time machine, at least he says he did, brought it to the shop to show it you but when you came downstairs it wasn’t there and vince and howard had disappeared_

_gone on a journey through time and space_

_you went frantic, and with saboo’s help (you’d have gone insane without him) you searched every archive and every website but there was no trace of them in earth or any other planet’s history_

_they must have gone into the future_

_eventually you gave up and had them declared deceased, inherited vince’s wardrobe and howard’s record collection and sold them both at a tidy profit_

_along with the shop, you hadn’t the heart to stay there after bollo died_

_he’s buried in the jungle he came from, you go there every year to remember him, and you’ve never had another familiar_

_you bought the island and the house from dennis and for every single perfect day you spend here you are grateful to vince and howard_

_you never got to give them their retirement present, the crunch-night recording on the cube, but you’ve still got it, and when you and saboo go on your annual holiday to tony’s mansion on earth you always pack it_

_along with the mirrorball suit and that awful ‘blue train’ album_

_just in case_

_you hope that one day you might catch up with them again… and that wherever (or whenever) they are, it still has topshop and nutella_

_and jazz_

_maybe you’re getting closer to them…_

_saboo’s heartbeat is steady and comforting, measuring itself to yours as the mind-link joins your thoughts together_

_… maybe, maybe…_

_crunch time coming, the boundaries of time and space are more fluid_

_you open your mind, strain your shaman-senses to the limit_

_and just for a fraction of a second there is a tiny flash of peacock blue_


End file.
